IC-NRLF 


35 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


The  "Passin'-On"   Party 


An  house     .      .      .     made  with  hands : 


The 

"Passin'-On"  Party 


BY 

EFFIE  GRAHAM 


With   Illustrations   by 
DOROTHY   DULIN 

(SECOND    EDITION) 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO 

1912 


TT>T>  A 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1912 


Published  September,  1912 


W.  r.  HALL  PRINTING  COMPANY,  CHICAGO 


PREFACE 

THIS  is  a  story  of  a  people,  one 
time  slaves  and  bondsmen,  now 
f ree-tongued  freeholders  in  a  western 
land:  the  old  new  type,  adopted  and 
adapted.  They  combine  all  the  "heart- 
tellin's  "  and  simple  faith  of  slave  days, 
with  the  oratorical  habit  and  view- 
holding  propensities  of  their  environ- 
ment. It  is  to  be  expected,  therefore, 
that  these  Kansas  "Jayhawkers" — 
full-pinioned,  though  of  a  duskier  hue 
—  should  dispraise  fearlessly  many  of 
their  own  race  frailties,  as  well  as 
those  of  "  dem  white  folks  dey  circles 

wif." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  ONE 

004&,  "AN  HOUSE  .  .  MADE  WITH  HANDS"      3 

CHAPTER  TWO 
"PARTY  HANKERIN'  " 33 

CHAPTER  THREE 
THE  "PASSIN'-ON"  OF  THE  COLORED 

GUESTS 63 

CHAPTER  FOUR 
"DE  WHITE  FOLKS  I  CIRCLES  WIF"  .    .     89 

CHAPTER  FIVE 
WHERE  SOCIAL  CIRCLES  INTERSECT  .    .115 

CHAPTER  SIX 

"GOD-GlVEN-INITIES" 139 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

"An  house made  with  hands"     .     . 

Frontispiece 

The  garden 16 

"I  don'  sot  no  sto'  by  dat  way  of  curin' 

rheum'tiz" 44 

'''You  all  kin  has  you'  own  way"     ...     58 
"Dem  pins  suah  b'long  in  de  Bad  Place"     72 

Fixing  his  eyes  on  the  dusky  face,  the 

singer  began 74 

"You  could  be  decent  enough  to  those 

darkies — but  I'm  another  story"     .  no 

Aunt  June  watched  this  finished  product 

cross  her  humble  floor 118 

Feet  tapping,  bodies  swaying,  their  eyes 

running  over 168 

Unk  Jerry's  head  bent  low  as  the  healing. 

words  flowed  on  .  182 


Chapter  One 

O04&,  "An   house  .  .  .   made 
with  hands" 


The  "Passin'-On"  Party 


CHAPTER  I 

004&,  "AN  HOUSE  .  .  MADE 
WITH  HANDS" 

IF  YOU  were  twenty,  the  house 
where  the  party  was  "  give  "  would 
have  made  you  laugh ;  but  if  you  were 
fifty,  well,  you  might  have  laughed 
with  your  mouth  but  not  with  your 
eyes.  Something  would  get  into  them 
as  you  looked  at  the  place  —  dust  may- 
be, but  'twas  more  like  dew. 

The  house  was  such  an  architectural 
nondescript;  so  insolently  indifferent 
to  appearance,  yet  withal  so  appealing, 
[3] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

that  few  passed  it  without  concern, 
nor  failed  to  recall  it  with  interest. 

It  was  the  home  of  two  old  col- 
ored people,  ex-slaves,  Aunt  June  and 
Uncle  Jerry  Ferguson  ("Unk  Junk," 
for  boys),  as  they  were  familiarly 
called.  They  had  built  this  house  with 
their  own  hands,  in  odd  times  after 
work  hours,  out  of  any  available  mate- 
rial. Some  of  it  had  been  picked  up 
along  the  Kaw  River  bank,  or  the  rail- 
road tracks ;  much  of  it  had  been  solic- 
ited, haggled,  or  flattered  from  their 
employers,  the  town  white  folks.  As 
this  was  a  Kansas  town  where  resi- 
dence renovation  was  frequent,  mar- 
velous architectural  effects  were  pro- 
duced when  the  cast-off  portions  of 
the  better  homes  took  honored  place 
in  the  humbler  habitat. 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

It  had  a  tin  roof,  had  this  mansion, 
OO4&  on  Yam  Avenue.  Albeit  some 
of  the  flattened-out  tin  cans  that 
formed  it  had  once  borne  lustier  corn 
on  their  outer  covering  than  in  their 
sealed-up-ness,  who  shall  say  they  did 
not  compensate  now  by  the  honest  roof 
they  made? 

"  Dat  wuz  de  dry  year,  I  puttin'  dat 
kivver  on,  an'  folks  used  a  heap  o'  can' 
stuff,"  Unk  Jerry  elucidatingly  said. 
"  Toted  piles  of  'em  from  Mis'  Stileses 
boa'din'  house.  Mistah  Walters,  he 
smile  when  I  show  him  dis  ruf .  '  Ef 
yo-all  needin'  mo'  tin,  Unk,'  he  say, 
'  I  '11  loan  you  my  stomick  linin'.  I  'm 
not  usin'  it.'  He  boa'ded  at  Mis' 
Stileses.  Dat  biggest,  newest  patch 
over  dar  come  from  Mis'  Jawson's. 
Her  ole  man  broke  up. 
[5] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

"  Jes'  so  dis  ruf  sheds  de  rain  offun 
us !  Po'  niggers  lak  we-uns  moughty 
thankful  we  don'  have  to  sleep  under 
deeshpans  an'  warsh  tubs  for  kivvers, 
some  dese  here  rainy  nights,  I  'm  tellin' 
you !  Mis'  Slautah,  a  culled  lady  dat 
lives  in  a  rented  house,  she  say  she 
done  kotch  'nuff  watah  on  de  baid  in 
her  tub  to  start  de  warsh.  Naw,  suh ! 
Dis  heah  house  ain'  no  Priest  o'  Pal- 
las, but  we  done  kotch  our  rain  watah 
on  de  outside  anyhow,  bress  Gawd ! " 

But  the  walls  outshone  the  roof  in 
originality.  They  were  a  mosaic  or 
a  patchwork,  accordingly  as  your  idea 
of  conglomerate  surface  was  obtained 
from  the  study  of  art,  or  from  remem- 
bering the  covering  of  your  old  trun- 
dle-bed back  in  Ohio.  A  part  of  one 
side  was  mad^  of  rejected  pavement 
[6] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

brick.  Since  the  city  "  suspector  "  was 
not  "suspecting"  on  a  certain  May 
morning  when  old  Jerry's  building 
instinct  sent  him  forth,  bird-like,  after 
material,  this  was  the  most  substantial 
part  of  the  structure.  It  was  marred 
only  by  the  fact  that  Unk's  masonry, 
guiltless  of  plumb-line,  bulged  in  some 
spots  and  receded  modestly  in  others. 
This  made  the  little  house,  as  viewed 
from  the  front,  seem  to  be  suffering 
from  the  mumps,  or  waiting  for  its 
jaws  to  settle  sufficiently  to  get  a  new 
set  of  teeth,  both  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  The  remainder  of  the  shanty 
was  a  mixture  of  weather-boarding, 
shingles,  window  frames,  shutters,  and 
two-by-fours,  all  put  on  regardless  of 
regularity,  color,  shape,  previous  serv- 
itude, or  present  appearance. 
[7] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

It  was  the  front  of  the  residence, 
however,  protruding  its  monstrosi- 
ties into  your  face  as  you  passed  by, 
that  was  at  once  the  despair  of  local 
architects  and  the  target  of  curious 
sightseers,  as  well  as  the  delight  and 
well-spring  of  pleasure  to  the  two  old 
black  folk.  They  had  pooled  their  in- 
dustry, acquisitiveness,  and  social 
knowledge  in  the  construction  of  this 
portion  of  the  dwelling. 

The  material  had  been  gathered 
from  the  wreck  of  some  box  cars,  the 
red  of  the  boards  crossed  at  irregular 
intervals  by  the  white  bands  of  car 
decoration.  Conspicuously  placed  near 
the  middle  of  the  front  were  the  large 
white  figures,  00482:,  once  a  part  of 
the  car  number.  It  was  Aunt  June's 
idea.  When  Unk  brought  the  boards 
[8] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

into  the  yard  and  began  to  nail  them 
up,  she  said:  "Heah,  now,  ole  man! 
Le's  us  hev  figgers  on  our  house, 
lak  white  folks.  Den  I  kin  tell  'em 
whar  I  lives,  too,  jes'  lak  a  suah  'miff. 
Laws!  I  hear'n  'em  all  sayin'  it  to- 
gether, boasty  lak,  at  parties  whar  I  'm 
holpin' :  '  I  lives  at  91 1  Big  Bug  Bou- 
levard. Come  an'  see  me.'  Jes'  lak 
to  let  'em  know  dat  I  got  figgers,  too, 
an'  mine  heap  bigger 'n  their'n." 

"  Don'  go  for  to  wearyin'  'bout  dem 
upsticken'  folks  nohow,  Juny,"  was 
Unk's  slow  response.  "I'll  puttin' 
dese  ole  figgers  to  suit  you-all,  suah  I 
will.  Dese  short  boa'ds  am  moughty 
scrumptious  heah  whar  I  gwine  put 
dat  li'l  hang-bird  porch  dat  ol'  Mistah 
Luddahman  done  give  me." 

That  the  number  on  the  small 
[9] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

house  should  begin  with  the  utterly 
meaningless  "oo"  never  disturbed 
Unk,  nor  that  the  ending  should  be 
the  symbol  of  more  to  come.  Indeed, 
some  were  mean  enough  to  think  that 
the  reposeful  attitude  of  the  "  &  "  was 
a  suitable  coat  of  arms  for  the  lord  and 
master  of  the  "Hand-Made  House" 
on  Yam  Avenue. 

So,  under  the  "oo,"  "whar  de  short 
boards  come,"  was  placed  the  little 
hang-bird  porch.  This  was  Unk's 
name  for  the  small  Juliet  balcony, 
which  had  been  given  him  when  the 
old  Ludderman  house  was  displaced  by 
the  new  one. 

" '  Pow'ful  fine  li'l  porch,  dat,  Mis- 
tah  Luddahman/  I  say,"  went  on  old 
Junk  to  Juny.  "'  'Taint  no  reg'lar 
porch/  he  say,  '  an'  Miss  Dor'thy  don' 

[10] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

wan'  it  no  more.  Jes'  a  Ju-ly-et  Bal- 
cony/ he  say. 

"'Law,  dat  make  no  difference  to 
my  Juny,  Mistah  Luddahman ;  she  set 
ez  hard  in  a  July  porch  ez  in  a  June 
one.  She  would  n't  want  a  Winter  one, 
of  co'se;  she's  pow'ful  fash'n'ble,'  I 
say.  An'  he  say, '  Take  it  along,  Unk.' 
Then  he  say  sompin'  about  July-ets 
comin'  in  'sorted  colors  an'  sizes,  any- 
how. 

" '  Dis  suit  me  plenty,'  I  say.  'Ain't 
'ticulah  'bout  colors,  nohow.  I  seed 
plenty  white  women  don'  match  der 
porch  color.  My  Juny  moughty  fash- 
'n'ble, too,  but,  Ian'  sake,  she  can't  fix 
her  color  up  lak  white  woman.  She  has 
to  take  de  tints  de  good  Lawd  sorted 
out  for  her.  Reckon  she's  same  way 
wif  porches." 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

And  so  it  was  that  in  the  center  of 
the  box  car  front,  neither  covering  a 
window,  nor  sheltering  a  door,  was 
placed  the  little  hang-bird  porch  from 
the  like  of  which  so  many  stage  beau- 
ties have  leaned  to  catch  the  ardent 
love-making  of  their  Romeos.  To  see 
Jerry  perched  in  it  on  a  summer  eve- 
ning,— Aunt  June  refused  to  occupy 
it  on  account  of  her  weight, —  was  to 
fail  forever  to  appreciate  the  tender 
scene  behind  the  footlights.  On  such 
evenings  the  old  woman  preferred  a 
seat  on  the  low  doorstep  of  the  mot- 
ley mansion  where,  with  her  spacious 
back  to  her  up-hung  Romeo,  and  with 
her  fancy  freer  than  that  of  Shake- 
speare's heroine,  she  proudly  surveyed 
her  surroundings. 

Although  the  house  was  largely  Unk 

[12] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Junk's  handiwork,  the  yard,  even  to 
(he  fence  about  it,  was  surely  Aunt 
June's  own.  To  her  it  owed  its  wealth 
of  horticultural  outlawry,  and  its  bar- 
baric decoration.  'Twas  she  who  had 
begged  the  plants  and  flowers  and 
toted  them  home.  'Twas  her  hand  that 
planted,  watered,  and  coaxed  them  into 
bloom.  From  her  lips,  too,  came  those 
quasi-philosophic  tellings  of  where, 
and  how,  and  of  whom  she  obtained  the 
riches  of  her  garden  spot. 

Many  a  stranger,  attracted  by  the 
quaint  charm  of  the  place,  or  patron, 
lured  by  the  hope  of  decent  laundry, 
halted  to  listen  as  she  fondly  pointed 
out  her  treasures,  and  went  away 
chuckling  at  the  strange  truth  and 
humor  of  her  talk. 

"Yes,  suh,  my  fence  take  me  right 
[13] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

smaht  spell,  but  I  guess  'twill  las'  me," 
she  would  say.  "Got  all  kin's,  too," 
referring  to  what  appeared  to  be  a 
line  of  samples  abandoned  by  a  travel- 
ing fence  man. 

And  such  a  fence!  Woven  wire 
clutched  its  metal  tendrils  about  paw- 
paw stakes.  Discarded  bank  fixtures 
neighbored  the  wooden  slats  from  a 
corn  crib.  Cellar  gratings  clasped 
hands  with  ornamental  pickets. 
Barbed  wire  snarled  its  way  through 
it  all  and  held  the  motley  mass  to 
the  task  of  guarding  the  dooryard  of 
"  Ole  Aunt  June."  She  knew  about 
it,  too,  every  splinter  of  it. 

"You-all   askin'    'bout   dem   white 

pickets  over  dar,"  she  would  say.    "All 

dem  pickets  done  come  from  de  bury- 

in'-yard.     Dem  one-p'inted  ones  from 

[14] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

'roun'  ole  Gunnel  Mosley's  first  wife; 
dem  two-p'int  pickets  from  'roun'  de 
secon'  wife.  Lan'!  When  de  third 
wife  see  dem  p'ints,  how  she  cave 
'roun'!  'Don'  ketch  me  behin'  no 
three-p'int  pickets/  she  say;  'first 
notch  or  none/  she  say. 

"  Cou'se,  de  first  Miss  Mosley's  chil- 
lun  ain'  done  givin'  up  de  one  p'int, 
so  Gunnel  he  jes'  natchally  taken 
'em  all  out,  to  keep  down  de  peace. 

"  Dat  's  huccom  dey  's  diff 'unt,"  went 
on  the  historian.  "  But  moughty  han'- 
some  fence,  honey !  Rech  clean  across 
de  front,  jes'  for  two  wives.  'Lan', 
Gunnel!'  I  say,  'you  young  man  yit. 
I  'spects  ef  dey  gives  you  time  'nuff, 
you  have  to  t'row  'way  'nuff  fence  to 
go  cl'ar  'roun'  my  whole  yard/  I 
tell  'im." 

[15] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

One  hoped  that  the  Colonel  might  be 
providentially  removed  before  he  suc- 
ceeded in  discarding  enough  grave- 
yard fence  to  displace  the  tangled  mas- 
terpiece that  now  straggled  about  the 
little  enclosure.  For  the  fence  suited 
the  yard.  The  first  impression  on  view- 
ing it  was  that  of  a  half-pleasing, 
half-offending  jumble  of  greenery  and 
gleaming  color;  of  bush  and  vine;  of 
vegetable  and  blooming  flower;  of 
kitchen  ware,  crockery,  and  defunct 
household  furniture.  A  marvelous 
mixture  it  was,  of  African  jungle, 
city  park,  and  town  dump. 

It  was  easy  to  see,  however,  that 
flowers  dominated  the  herbaceous  tan- 
gle. They  were  everywhere  and  of 
every  kind.  Neither  order  nor  rank 
defined  their  placing.  Old-fashioned 
[16] 


The   garden 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

garden  bloom  jostled  hot-house  prod- 
uct, and  the  flower  of  the  field  usurped 
at  will  the  place  of  either.  There  were 
no  stars,  nor  crescents,  nor  massed 
backgrounds,  but  all  grew  contentedly 
in  democratic  confusion,  wherever 
Aunt  June's  hoe  or  delving  shoe  toe 
had  found  a  place  for  them  on  some 
tired  eventime. 

One  noted,  too,  the  unique  recepta- 
cles for  growing  plants.  Modern  flo- 
rists trust  their  treasures  to  the  tender 
bosom  of  Mother  Earth;  but  not  so 
Aunt  June.  She  elevated  her  darlings 
in  every  conceivable  manner.  Mari- 
golds bloomed  in  butter  kits,  and  ge- 
raniums glowed  in  punctured  "  deesh- 
pans."  Fair  Easter  lilies  were  upheld 
by  insolent  punch-bowls,  and  johnny- 
jump-ups  were  ensconced  in  baby  bug- 
[17] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

gies.  Therein  they  all  blossomed  on, 
serenely  unconscious  of  the  Mardi 
Gras  parade  they  made  as  they  gaily 
shared  our  glee  or  dared  our  disap- 
proval. 

"Seem  lak  dem  li'l  jum'-pups  suah 
do  enjoy  demselves  crowdin'  each  other 
'roun'  in  dat  ole  baby  carriage,"  Aunt 
June  would  say.  "Dem  blue-eyed 
flowers  make  me  reco-mem-ber  Mis' 
Jedge  Cartwright's  chillun  I  use  to 
push  'roun'  in  dat  ole  baby  buggy.  De 
two  las'  chillun,  Miss  Nina  an'  Miss 
Grace,  fine  young  ladies  now,  an'  de 
flowers  of  de  flock.  Sammy,  he  big 
man,  too.  Gone  off  to  Warshington, 
Corn-grass-man,  papah  say;  but,  Ian' 
sake !  he  wa'  n't  no  farmer  heah,  I  tole 
him. 

" '  Sammy,'  I  say,  when  he  standin' 
[18] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

heah  one  day,  '  Seem  lak  I  hear'n  you 
squallin'  yit  when  you-all  tumble  outen 
dat  ole  buggy  on  yo'  haid.' 

"  'I  'm  still  at  de  f allin',  Aunty,  but 
have  to  cut  out  de  squallin'  now,' 
Sammy  say,  quiet  lak.  '  Moughty  fine 
ole  buggy,  Aunt  June.  Take  good  keer 
of  you'  johnny-jum'-pups.  Don'  cheat 
'em  out  of  de  bloomin'  time.  Dey 
cain't  do  dat  after  while.'  Sam  do  suah 
make  long  speeches  sence  he  gone  to 
Warshington. 

"  Whose  dat  other  baby  carriage 
dar  wif  de  white  flowers  hangin'  over 
de  sides?  Dat's  ole  Mis'  Preachah 
Newton's  onliest  li'l  gal's,  what 's  daid. 
Mis'  Newton  say,  'You-all  take  dat 
buggy  home  wif  you,  Aunt  June.  I 
cain't  stand  to  see  it  'roun'  an'  other 
babies  ridin'  in  it.'  So  I  plant  dem 
[19] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

white  posies  in  it.  Just  budded  good 
when  Mis'  Newton  come  heah,  Mo- 
moral  Day.  She  lookin'  hawd  at  dem 
li'l  buds  an'  she  say,  '  Don't  pull  dem 
po'  li'l  things  yet,  Aunt  June.  Dey 
would  be  scairt  out'en  de  cemete'y,  all 
alone.  Keep  'em  twell  dey  bloom  out 
full,  an'  give  'em  to  some  li'l  chile 
what 's  po'.  An'  I  allus  does. 

"  Lan'  sake !  dat  nex'  onliest  kid  o' 
hern,  dat  Ralph  Newton,  he  don'  git 
none  my  flowers!  He  suah  ack  lak 
only  son.  Brekin'  in  heah  an'  tear  in' 
up  Jack,  trompin'  down  flowers,  only  " 
—  dropping  her  voice — "he  —  nevah 

—  teched  —  dat  —  littles'   baby   buggy 

—  where  dem  white  flowers  is. 

"  Dat  beeg  brack  thing  wif  de  ferm 
in,  clean  back  under  dat  bursh  ?    Lak 
know  how  you-all  spy  dat  out?    Beat 
[20] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

all  'bout  yo'  eyes  peerin'  'roun'.  I 
ain'  no  lady  joint-keeper ! " 

After  this  digression,  by  which 
Aunt  June  showed  her  complete  right 
to  citizenship  in  her  adopted  State,  the 
talk  went  on. 

"  Dat  's  ole  Marse  Molton's  ole  iron 
warsh  pot.  Used  to  scald  hawgs  in 
it  and  cook  Indian  mess  an'  free  bar- 
berry-cue mess  for  niggers  'lection 
times. 

"  Plenty  o'  '  Gov'ment  Drops '  in  de 
jugs,  too,  dem  days.  None  of  de  f  am'ly 
lef '  no  mo',  'cept  Miss  Liza.  She  nevah 
f  oun'  her  no  ole  man.  She  don'  necis- 
sitate  much  cookin'  no  mo',  an'  she 
given  me  dat  ole  pot.  '  Plant  sompin' 
in  it,  so's  you-all  reco-mem-ber  me, 
Aunt  June,'  she  say.  'I  certain  suah 
done  dat/  I  say.  So  I  plant  dat  ferm 
[21] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

—  maiden-haih-ferm,  dey  call  it.  Dat 
suah  suit  ole  Miss  Liza." 

Near  Auntie's  elbow,  as  she  sat  on 
the  step,  was  a  blossom-filled  urn  that 
attracted  more  attention  by  the  bril- 
liancy of  its  burden  than  by  its  own 
beauty.  'Twas  an  old  brass  cuspidor, 
elevated  on  a  stair  spindle,  and  holding 
a  wealth  of  bright-eyed  four-o'clocks, 
with  trailing  morning  glories.  It  had 
been  fished  out  of  the  ashes  after  the 
burning  of  the  Capital  Hotel,  many 
years  ago,  having  graced  the  lobby  of 
that  famous  holding  place  for  Kan- 
sas politics,  where,  it  is  said,  Govern- 
ors and  United  States  Senators  were 
made  or  unmade  to  order.  Of  all  this 
Aunt  June  was  beautifully  ignorant, 
as  became  her  sex. 

"'What's  dis?'  one  of  dem  poli- 
[22] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

tickle  genTmen  ask,  who  see  dat  box 
-when  he  come  heah  to  git  some  white 
vestes  warshed.  '  Whar  you  git  dis  ? ' 3 

" '  Ole  Cap'tal  spit  box/  I  say.  Den 
he  jes'  march  'roun'  an'  'roun'  dat 
thing,  an'  look  at  it  fru  his  one  spec', 
an'  don'  know  whether  he  bettah  laugh 
er  cry." 

"'Well,  ole  frien',  he  say,  'didn' 
'spect  to  fin'  you-all  heah.  Lost  yo' 
ole  job,  lak  some  mo'  folks,  did  you? 
Plenty  of  flowers  bloomin'  'roun'  you 
in  dem  ole  days.  Talk  flowers !  Bright- 
es'  in  Kansas/  he  say." 

Easily  the  most  conspicuous  thing 
in  the  yard,  and  one  highly  prized  by 
Aunt  June,  was  a  mound  near  the 
gate.  Here,  on  a  rounded  pile  of  earth, 
was  displayed  such  a  collection  of  bro- 
ken chinaware  and  glittering,  bright- 
[23] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

colored  glass  as  has  not  greeted  your 
eyes  since  you  looked  last  on  your  old 
playhouse.  Not  the  new  carpenter- 
made  mansion,  but  the  kind  that  was 
popular  on  the  thither  side  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi, in  the  days  before  Santa  Claus 
had  become  an  excuse  for  jamming 
children's  lives  full  of  real  toys,  to  the 
starvation  of  the  imagination. 

On  this  mound  were  crippled  cream 
pitchers,  hotel  gravy  boats,  lamp  chim- 
neys, whisky  bottles,  bar-room  fixtures, 
gay  bits  of  glass  from  a  memorial 
window,  crowned  by  the  shattered  re- 
mains of  an  old  stovepipe,  straight, 
upright,  ready  for  action.  Blessed  re- 
minder was  this  of  the  elemental  child- 
hood in  us  all,  and  especially  of  the 
continuous  childhood  of  the  race  to 
which  Aunt  June  belonged. 

[24] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw. 
'Tis  not  the  modern  youngster, 
though,  to  whom  all  this  appeals.  This 
was  evidenced  one  evening  when  Ralph 
Newton,  the  privileged  "only  son"  of 
Mrs.  Preacher  Newton,  whose  baby 
carriage  now  held  the  white  flowers, 
led  his  band  of  senior  high-school  fel- 
lows in  a  grand  charge  upon  the  little 
place.  Decayed  vegetables  were  the 
missiles  of  the  preliminary  skirmish. 
One  particularly  odorous  cabbage-head 
missed  old  Unk's  petrified  pate  and, 
landing  between  Aunt  June's  shoul- 
ders, made  future  trouble  for  Ralph, 
the  young  leader  of  the  gang. 

As  if  this  were  not  sufficient,  the 

charge  was  renewed  in  the  night  time, 

with  the  result  that  much  mischief  was 

done  in  the  little  yard.    The  old  baby 

[25] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

buggy  that  had  once  held  pretty  Nina 
Cartwright  in  some  mysterious  man- 
ner appeared  next  morning  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  high-school  rostrum,  when 
the  speaker  arose  at  the  class-day  ex- 
ercises to  give  his  final  advice  to  the 
graduating  class. 

Poor  Ralph  Newton !  His  perfectly 
good  Y.  M.  C.  A.  alibi  ignored  by  the 
unreasonable  school  board,  his  diploma 
denied  him,  and,  what  was  far  worse, 
his  name  immediately  "scratched" 
from  the  waiting  list  of  the  offended 
Nina  Cartwright,  class  beauty  and  his 
senior-year  sweetheart!  Small  won- 
der that  his  appreciation  of  Aunt  June 
and  her  residence  must  come  with  time, 
as  we  shall  later  see. 

Great  place  for  reminiscence,  for 
laughter,  and  for  tears,  was  old  Aunt 
[26] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

June's  crazy  patch  of  a  house,  with  the 
crazier  yard  and  exasperating  fence 
about  it.  Laughter  when  you  entered, 
reminiscence  if  you  lingered,  but  low- 
ered voices  when  you  paused  to  bid 
good-by  to  Aunt  June  and  Uncle  Jerry. 
It  was  their  home  —  the  best  they 
knew.  Though  the  material  was  in- 
congruous, it  had  been  borne  hither  on 
backs  that  ached  from  the  day's  task. 
Though  the  architecture  was  unspeak- 
able, the  building  hand  dusky  and  all 
untoolwise,  yet  the  touch  was  tender 
and  the  plumb  lines  were  the  heart- 
strings of  loyal,  loving,  simple  folk. 
This  a  cabin  ?  Nay,  this  was  a  shrine. 
Here  were  offered  up  human  toil, 
human  hopes  and  sacrifices  —  fit  ele- 
ments in  every  true  home,  be  its 
builder  black  or  white,  its  material 

[27] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

marble  or  mongrel,  its  location  Gov- 
ernor's Square  or  Yam  Avenue. 

Hats  off  to  all  such  home  building! 
Better  far  is  it  than  the  shiftless  ten- 
ant habit,  or  moving  distemper,  or  flat- 
dwelling  foolishness  that  makes  for  ir- 
responsible citizens,  childless  homes, 
and  homeless  children.  This,  then,  is 
the  message  of  the  little  sprawling 
habitation  of  old  Aunt  June  and  Uncle 
Jerry  at  OO4&. 

Though  the  Commercial  Club  never 
drove  location-seekers  past  this  resi- 
dence, the  little  lane-like  street  was 
popular,  nevertheless.  Many  of  the 
old-time  townspeople  came  that  way, 
and  their  interest  in  the  place,  as  well 
as  their  cordial  greetings,  were  much 
appreciated  by  the  old  couple,  whom 
we  left  some  pages  back,  sitting  before 
[28] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

the  mansion,  to  see  the  procession  pass. 

Especially  was  this  a  season  of  re- 
freshing to  the  soul  of  old  Aunt  June. 
In  her  heart  a  lover  of  the  formalities 
of  life,  she  was  fond  of  "fash'n'ble 
folks,"  as  Unk  Junk  on  occasions  half-- 
tauntingly  said. 

Indeed,  it  was  this  weakness  of  hers 
that  finally  led  to  the  giving  of  the 
"  Passin'  -  On  -  Party  "  at  the  cabin  — 
which  function,  as  planned  and  car- 
ried out  by  a  group  of  the  town's  young 
people,  was  the  occasion  of  as  much 
back-porch  wireless  as  any  event  that 
ever  splashed  our  social  pool. 

This  is  how  it  happened. 


[29] 


Chapter  Two 
"Party  Hankerin' 


CHAPTER  II 
"PARTY  HANKERIN'" 

AUNT  JUNE  was  seriously  ill. 
Too  many  "  warshin's  "  in  damp 
basements,  and  too  much  sitting  out  in 
the  dooryard  after,  had  allowed  her 
old  foe,  rheumatism,  to  have  its  way. 

She  had  suffered  for  some  weeks. 
Although  Uncle  Jerry  had  given  her 
"doctah  drops"  faithfully  as  pre- 
scribed, and  although  her  friends, 
white  and  colored,  had  not  allowed 
her  to  lack  any  comfort,  still  she  lay 
weak  and  ill  in  her  small  cabin  through- 
out the  early  Summer. 

Her  condition  was  apparent  to  a  lit- 
tle group  who  gathered  in  the  shanty 
[33] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

on  a  late  afternoon  of  one  of  these  try- 
ing days.  There  were  Nina  and  Grace 
Cartwright,  who  had  been  supplanted 
but  not  eclipsed  in  beauty  by  the  blos- 
soms in  the  outdoor  baby  buggy ;  Dor- 
othy Ludderman,  whose  father  had 
contributed  the  Juliet  balcony  to  the 
cabin's  adornment;  old  Dr.  Barman, 
who  had  cared  for  Aunt  June  without 
charge;  and  last,  though  not  always 
to  be  so  ranked,  was  poor,  old,  half- 
broken-hearted  Uncle  Jerry. 

When  the  girls  entered  the  cabin, 
they  found  the  doctor  standing  at  the 
side  of  the  bed —  big  four-post  affair 
—  in  whose  cavernous  depths,  with 
eyes  half  closed  in  apparent  sleep,  lay 
a  very  much  shrunken  Aunt  June. 
Uncle  Jerry  held  his  usual  place  at  the 
bed's  foot,  dumbly  watching  the  doc- 
[34] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

tor's  face  for  some  sign  of  cheer.  Plac- 
ing their  basket  on  the  table,  the  young- 
ladies  were  tiptoeing  out  of  the  room, 
when  Uncle  Jerry,  by  pantomime,  im- 
plored them  to  stay  and  hear  what  the 
doctor  had  to  say.  Drawing  a  little 
closer  together  near  the  center  of  the 
room,  safely  away  from  its  dark  cor- 
ners, with  the  level  rays  of  the  late 
afternoon  sun  bringing  out  their  fresh, 
clear  beauty  in  sharp  contrast  against 
the  dark  setting,  they  stood  waiting 
the  doctor's  word. 

Presently,  while  they  held  their 
breath,  Aunt  June's  lips  moved  and 
a  wail-like  chant,  in  the  halting,  un- 
natural tones  of  the  sleep-talker,  filled 
the  little  place : 

"  Mis'  Cunnel-Jedge- John-Ferguson 
gwine  give  a  party  a -Thursday  — 
[35] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

weather  permittin'.  Brack  folks  early 
an'  late.  White  folks  —  usual  hours. 
Seems  lak — dat  what  I  allus  wanted 
to  been  readin'  'bout  in  de  papahs  — 
before  I  go  to  —  de  Glory  —  Lan'." 

Before  the  weird  monologue  ceased 
its  trailing  echo  in  the  cabin's  darkest 
corner,  the  girls  had  crowded  through 
the  narrow  door  into  the  blessed  day- 
light of  the  back  yard. 

Uncle  Junk  sloped  rapidly  after 
them,  and  stood  fearful  in  the  open, 
with  quivering  form  and  agonized 
eyes,  whose  encircling  gaze  seemed  to 
rest  nowhere. 

"Fore  Gawd,  she  gwine  dis  time, 
suah ! "  he  moaned.  "  Dat 's  no  sleep- 
in'  drops!  Dat's  ha'nts!  Talkin' 
ha'nts!"  Then,  half  beside  himself, 
he  went  on,  as  if  in  prayer : 

[36] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"  Deah  Lawd,  ef  you  gwine  take  'er, 
why,  take  'er !  But  don'  make  no  talk- 
in'  ha'nt  outen  my  Junie !  Still  ha'nts 
bad  'miff,  but  jes'  ole  Satan  kin  stop 
de  talkin'  kin'.  Good  Lawd ! " 

Nina  rallied.  She  was  always  the 
official  speaker  of  the  crowd. 

"Uncle  Jerry,  of  course,  it's  the 
medicine,"  she  assured  him.  "She's 
delirious.  Here's  the  doctor;  he'll 
tell  us." 

Dr.  Barman  lingered.  He  was  one 
of  the  Heaven-sent  kind,  who  did  not 
disguise  his  prescriptions  in  Latin,  nor 
his  diagnoses  in  incomprehensible  Eng- 
lish. "  Nine-tenths  doctor  and  eleven- 
tenths  man,"  the  town  arithmetician 
had  said,  then  saved  our  brain  cells  by 
adding,  "Equals  two  whole  doctors, 
you  see." 

[37] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

"  She  's  not  doing  well/'  he  said,  in 
a  voice  attuned  to  tenderness;  then 
qualifyingly,  at  sight  of  Unk's  scared 
eyes,  "  that  is,  not  so  well  as  I  should 
like." 

Turning  to  the  others,  he  went  on: 
"She  seems  despondent.  Can't  you 
girls  do  something  to  cheer  her  up  a 
bit?  Quit  carrying  her  victuals,  and 
put  on  a  vaudeville,"  seeing  the  need  of 
a  laugh  on  the  girls'  faces.  "What's 
that  talk  I  heard  in  there  about  a 
party?" 

"We  did  not  hear  it  all,"  ventured 
Dorothy.  "  Twas  pleasanter  out  here, 
and — will  she  get  well,  Doctor?  What 
can  we  do  to  help  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  the  doc- 
tor. "Ask  your  mothers  what  to  do. 
Tell  more  of  the  folks  to  come  down 
[38] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

here.  She's  used  to  seeing  lots  of 
people  at  these  parties  where  she  helps, 
and  she 's  missing  them.  She  '11  suffer 
anyhow,  but  'twould  give  her  some- 
thing to  think  about." 

The  doctor  put  on  his  hat.  This 
seemed  to  cram  an  idea  into  his  head, 
for  he  turned  with,  "  Might  be  a  good 
idea  to  give  her  that  party  she  has 
been  dreaming  about.  Unk  says  she 
has  talked  of  that  before.  Sounds  like 
it  had  been  in  her  system  quite  a  spell. 
Most  women  have  it  dormant  in  some 
part  of  their  anatomy.  It  may  skip  a 
generation  or  two,  but  it's  bound  to 
come  out.  Well,  let  me  know  what 
you  decide  to  do.  The  prescriptions 
are  in  there  on  the  table.  Call  me  up 
to-morrow,"  and  he  was  gone. 

Uncle  Jerry  and  the  girls  reentered 
[39] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

the  cabin.  Aunt  June  was  awake. 
With  her  head  elevated  on  a  doubled- 
up  pillow,  and  an  infantile  interest  on 
her  face,  she  was  surveying  the  walls 
of  the  room.  Here,  in  fantastic  group- 
ings, were  pasted  fashion  plates,  Sun- 
day supplements,  floral  catalogue 
sheets,  portraits  of  royalty,  and  state 
fair  porkers,  all  placed  where  the  in- 
coming wind  demanded  or  fancy  dic- 
tated. These  had  always  been  a  great 
pleasure  to  her,  and  now  her  gaze  re- 
turned childishly  to  their  inspection. 

She  greeted  the  girls  weakly,  but 
soon  her  brightened  old  eyes  wan- 
dered to  the  pictured  walls  again.  At 
this  sign  of  less  immediate  dissolution, 
old  Jerry  was  once  more  master  of  his 
house. 

"Whaffor  you-all  talk  dat  a-way 
[40] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

'bout  a  party,  Juny  ?  "  he  began.  "  Lak 
scared  Miss  Nina  mos'  to  deff." 

"Don'  know  'bout  no  party  talk, 
Jerry.  Hain't  in  my  min'  no  mo', 
'less  dem  papah  ladies  up  dah  makin' 
me,"  feebly  nodding  toward  a  brilliant- 
ly colored  fashion  plate  on  the  wall. 
"  Seem  lak  dey  make  me  all  time  han- 
kerin'  for  Miss  Lucy's  weddin'  'ception 
and  Mis'  Gawge  Wetherin'ton's  pass- 
in'-on  party,  what  I  missed." 

Unk's  blood  returned  to  the  fighting 
pitch.  "  Whaff or  you  all  time  hanker- 
in'  for  dem  fooles'  kin'  ob  passin'-on 
parties,  dey  calls  'ceptions,  Juny,  lak 
yo-all  tellin'  'bout?  Jes'  pass  'em  on, 
an'  feed  'em  li'l,  don'  res'  none — but 
chase  'em  out  de  do'  lak  turkeys  in  de 
spring.  Mebbe  dat's  a  good  kin'  of 
white  folks'  party,  but  noways  fittin' 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

for  de  cullud  race.  You  mus'  has  to 
stop  honin'  for  'em  now,  Juny." 

"  All  de  kin'  of  pleasure  dis  nigger's 
got."  Aunt's  voice  was  weakening. 
"Wish  good  Lawd  let  ole  June  hab 
jes'  one  reg'lah  one,  a  real  passin'-on 
party,  'fore — 'fore  she  go  to  de  Glory 
Lan'." 

Unk's  head  dropped  a  bit. 

"  Bress  de  good  Lawd ! "  Aunt  June 
went  on.  "He  gwine  give  me  one 
when  I  git  dar,  suah,  only"  —  falter- 
ingly — "only,  I  not  know  how  to  'sist 
dem  angels  fix  dey  wings  on  'em — an' 
lak  dat.  I  holpin'  white  ladies  fix  false 
hair  an'  plackets  heap  o'  times — but 
don'  know  nothin'  'bout  dat  winged 
crowd.  'Spects  I  not  git  'sist'  none  up 
dar,  needah." 

"Am'  gwine  be  no  passin'-on  par- 
[42] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

ties  in  Hebben,  I  'm  tellin'  you,  Juny ! 
Gwine  to  set  down  on  God's  right 
han'  an'  stay  ten  thousand  years.  De 
preacher  say  dat  —  no  chasin'  through 
an'  gittin'  outen  dar.  I'm  tellin'  you 
furder,  Juny,  ef  dem  pass-'em-on  par- 
ties gits  common  up  dar,  you  ain'  gwine 
be  no  'sistin'  angel,  needah  —  don'  you- 
all  fret  'bout  dat.  You's  gwine  stand 
in  dat  receivin'  line  in  Hebben,  ef  dey 
has  any — or  I  'm  not — gwine  —  let  — 
you  —  go,"  broke  in  Uncle  Jerry,  with 
shocking  theology,  but  fine  chivalry. 
For  in  Jerry's  heart  theology  and  chiv- 
alry ebbed  and  flowed  —  the  one  peni- 
tentially  bowing  the  aged  form,  the 
other  drawing  it  to  capable  erectness. 

"Can't  go  to  Hebben  hankerin', 
honey,"  he  went  on.  "  Hankerin'  makes 
trouble  'nuff  heah.  Good  Lawd  hain't 

[43] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

gwine  to  have  folks  'roun'  Him  han- 
kerin'  an'  honin'  all  de  time.  He  fig- 
gers  dat  Hebben  good  'nuff —  wifout 
none  yo'  parties  —  leas' ways,  dese 
'  passin-on '  parties." 

Nina  interposed.  "  Uncle  Jerry,  let 's 
give  her  a  party.  She  wishes  it  so 
much,  and  we  girls  will  do  all  the  work 
You  want  to  make  Aunt  June  happy, 
and  the  doctor  says  she  must  have 
more  company.  It  might  help  to  make 
her  well,  you  know.  We  'd  be  so  glad 
to  see  it  through  nicely." 

"Cou'se,  ef  you  say  it,  Miss  Nina, 
an'  de  doctah  say  it,  an'  her  haid  don' 
sot;  but  I  don'  sot  no  sto'  by  dat  way 
of  curin'  rheum'tiz." 

That  was  Jerry's  subsiding  cry.  Like 
many  a  whiter  but  not  wiser  husband, 
he  vanished,  to  reappear  again  when 
[44] 


P 

I  don'  sot  no  sto'  by  that  way  of  curin'  rheum 'tiz" 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

needed  and  when  fashion  and  his  wife 
shall  have  finished  with  each  other. 

Nina  had  her  way.  She  called  a 
meeting  of  the  girls  out  on  the  shady 
side  of  the  old  shack.  Here,  with  much 
enthusiasm,  some  tears,  and  an  occa- 
sional stuffing  of  handkerchiefs  into 
laughing  mouths,  plans  were  formu- 
lated for  carrying  out  Aunt  June's 
wish  —  that  of  giving  a  formal  func- 
tion, "a  passin'-on  party."  Commit- 
tees on  reception,  refreshments,  and 
invitation  were  appointed,  and  duties 
outlined.  Dorothy  was  to  head  the  re- 
ception committee,  Grace  Cartwright 
to  manage  the  refreshments.  Nina 
took  the  chairmanship  of  the  commit- 
tee on  invitation,  but  finally  was  made 
general  manager. 

She  went  immediately  into  the  cabin. 
[45] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

"  Aunt  June/'  she  said,  "  we  girls  have 
decided  to  give  you  a  reception  here  in 
your  house.  Suppose  you  try  to  tell 
me  now  whom  you  would  like  to  have, 
and  all  about  it.  Do  you  think  you 
could?" 

Aunt  June  rallied  to  the  situation. 
She  was  feminine  to  the  core,  and  she 
fully  justified  the  doctor's  faith  in  the 
good  effect  of  the  gratification  of  a 
life-long  "hanker." 

"  What  does  I  want,  honey  ?  Why, 
Lawd  bress  you!  jes'  lak  white  ladies. 
Read  it  in  de  papah.  Dat's  de  first 
thing.  Mis'  Jawn  Jeh'miah  Ferguson 
gwine  give  a  passin'-on  party,  weathah 
permittin'.  Cullud  early  or  some  later. 
I  want  a  on-dressin'  room  —  'sistin' 
ladies — an'  receivin'  line  —  an'  —  all." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  Aunty,  but  you 
[46] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

don't  need  all  that  name  for  Uncle 
Jerry,  do  you?" 

"Ef  I  can't  hev  it  reg'lah,  I  don' 
keer  for  it,  't  all.  Cou'se,  Jerry  hain't 
got  no  double  name,  but  white  ladies 
has  double  name  for  dey  husbands,  for 
marryin'  an'  'ceptions,  an'  Jawn  Jeh'- 
miah  is  my  man's  'ception  name." 

"  All  right,  Aunt  June.  Don't  worry ; 
I  '11  fix  it.  But  how  about  this  '  colored, 
early  and  late'  ?  " 

"Laws,  Miss  Nina,  don'  you  know 
white  folks  won'  come  when  niggers 
does,  nohow  ?  Mos'  dem  colored  folks 
gwine  to  dere  work  on  first  car,  an' 
won'  git  to  come  'less  dey  come  'fore 
seven  in  de  mawnin',  er  waits  'twell 
after  dey  gits  home  an'  cooks  de  chil- 
lun's  suppah.  Niggers  —  suah  drawed 
de  workin'  card  —  in  dis  ole  world." 
[47] 


The  Passin'-On  Party 

"Do  you  want  it  in  the  paper, 
Auntie?" 

"Suah!  Suah,  I  do.  In  de  s'iety 
papah.  You  ask  de  papah  man.  He 
suah  fix  it  for  ole  Aunt  June.  Done 
warshed  he  shu'ts  long  'fore  dese 
laundry  days.  Nevah  caved  'roun' 
none,  needah,  when  starch  sticked 
some.  He  suah  put  it  in  his  papah." 

Thus  empowered,  Nina  went  to  the 
nearest  telephone. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  Miss  West, 
the  society  reporter,"  as  the  office  an- 
swered. 

"  She  is  in  Europe." 

"  Then  give  me  the  young  lady  who 
has  taken  her  place." 

"Can't.    It's  a  man." 

"Well,  let  me  speak  to  him,  then," 
modifying  her  English.  But  the  tone 
[48] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

changed.  "  Why  Ralph  Newton,  what 
are  you  doing  there?"  Then  a  little 
stiffly :  "  I  wish  to  give  a  society  item 
to  the  paper." 

"  My !  Tis  good  to  hear  your  voice 
again,  Nina.  Thought  you  'd  cut  a  fel- 
low out  entirely.  The  stuff  will  keep. 
Can't  you  talk  a  little?" 

"No,  Mr.  Newton,  not  at  present. 
I  wish  to  give  an  item." 

Ralph,  feeling  the  frost  along  the 
line,  accepted  the  situation  and  her 
message,  very  kindly  suggesting  the 
best  phrasing  as  he  wrote,  but  subcon- 
sciously resolving  the  while  that  there 
was  one  social  function  which  he  really 
must  attend,  although  he  had  pre- 
viously avoided  such  delights,  while 
masquerading  as  society  reporter. 

What  his  pencil  said  was  this: 
[49] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

Mrs.  Jerry  Ferguson,  an  elderly  col- 
ored woman,  familiarly  known  as  Aunt 
June,  is  critically  ill  at  her  home  on 
Alayama  Avenue.  The  doctor  reports 
that  her  great  age  makes  her  case  a 
doubtful  one.  She  has  expressed  a 
wish  to  see  all  her  old  friends,  and  has 
designated  Thursday  next  as  the  most 
convenient  time.  It  is  hoped  that  as 
many  of  our  people  as  can  find  it  pos- 
sible will  call  at  that  time. 


"Hope  that  squares  the  cabbage 
case,"  the  reporter  added  to  himself, 
as  he  wrote  the  last  word.  For  his 
mind  had  gone  back  to  the  night  of 
the  senior  boys'  escapade  with  the 
Cartwright  baby  carriage. 

Early  Wednesday  afternoon,  Ralph 
presented  himself  at  the  cabin,  ostensi- 
bly for  copy,  but  really  with  the  hope 
that  he  might  be  allowed  to  help.  He 
brought  with  him  a  large  box,  bear- 
ing a  florist's  card.  Nina  met  him  at 
[50] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

the  door.  Aunt  June  was  asleep,  and 
their  low  tones  did  not  reach  her  con- 
sciousness. 

"Gee!  This  is  a  peach  of  a  place! 
How  shall  I  write  this,  Nina?"  The 
young  reporter  began:  "'The  draw- 
ing-room zvas  undecorated,  but  its  un- 
usually unique  furniture  unmatched 
for  style!' — unmatched  is  good — 'In- 
herited from' — most  of  the  town's 
prominent  citizens!  I  feel  honored; 
there 's  my  mother's  old  silver  castor ! 
And  —  never  mind,  Nina,  now — 'The 
original  treatment  of  the  walls!  — 
Say,  she 's  got  that  King  of  What 's  Its 
Name  standing  on  his  head  — 'included 
most  of  the  old  masters/ — new  ones, 
too,  I  guess, —  there's  the  Black  Man's 
Hope.  My!  Aunt  June's  long  on 
angels,"  pointing  to  one  corner  where 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

a  copy  of  the  Aurora  shared  honors 
with  flaming-winged  females  in  an- 
gelic guise,  who  blew  little  loops  of 
shoe  polish  ads  from  their  flaring 
trumpets.  "  She  must  be  specializing 
in  that  line." 

"  No  more  of  that  now,  Ralph.  This 
is  Auntie's  own  work.  Poor  old  soul ! 
maybe  she  has  needed  to  think  of 
angels  lately.  There!  she  is  waking 
up.  She  '11  not  recognize  you  —  I  hope." 

'You  enquirin'  'bout  flowers,  Miss 
Nina,"  began  the  sick  woman,  taking 
up  the  conversation  interrupted  by  her 
nap.  "You  put  some  yard  flowers 
'roun'  in  dem  fruit  cans,  I  been  sav- 
in' up." 

Ralph  thanked  his  lucky  stars. 
"Here  are  a  few  blossoms  for  you, 
Aunt  June,"  was  his  modest  remark, 
[52] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

producing  the  florist's  box  containing 
a  bunch  of  One-Week's-Salary  roses. 

"  Lawd  bress  yo'  heart !  Dem 's  fine 
'nuff  for  nigger  fun'ral.  Put  dem  on 
de  stove  in  dat  ole  teakittle.  Dey 
won'  git  upsot  den,  an'  ladies  jaw 
'roun',  ef  water  spill  on  'em,  lak  I  seed 
'em  do." 

"Now,  Aunty,  what  about  the  re- 
freshments ?  "  Grace  broke  in.  "  Papa 
said  you're  to  have  what  you  want. 
He '11  pay  for  them." 

"  Don'  wan'  no  sweetened  watah  ner 
air  wafahs  —  dat's  suttin.  Niggers 
allus  hungry.  White  folks,  too,  ef  dey 
only  'knowledge  it.  I  wants  some  fine 
chicken,  an'  roas'  turkey,  an'  b'iled  ham. 
an'  roas'  beef  —  mebbe  don'  wan'  bofe 
—  an'  two  or  three  kin'  of  bread  — 
cou'se,  some  coffee, —  an'  tea, —  Irish 
[53] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

'tatoes, —  an' — sweet — — "  she  closed 
her  eyes  again. 

"Now,  girls,  while  she's  gone  off 
on  a  gastronomical  excursion,  I  ar- 
rive." Ralph  came  to  the  rescue.  "  If 
you  are  going  to  have  a  barbecue,  you 
need  a  commissariat." 

"  Don'  know  'bout  no  bar-berry-cue, 
— but  I  don'  wan'  nobody  at  my  party 
gwine  'way  hungry.  Some  white  la- 
dies, what  boa'ds,  say  dat  dey  some- 
times has  to  pay  for  suppah  after  — 
an'  culled  folks  allus  got  vacantry  in 
de  stomick." 

"  You  must  not  talk  so  much,"  said 
Dorothy,  "not  now  nor  to-morrow, 
neither."  She  was  chairman  of  recep- 
tion formalities,  and  had  a  double 
reason  for  her  warning.  "  Most  white 
ladies  talk  very  little  at  their  own  re- 
[54] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

ceptions.  Just  bow  and  smile  and  pass 
people  on." 

"  Yes,  suh,"  with  much  vigor,  "  an' 
I  seed  'em,  too !  Jes'  shake  han's  high 
lak,  an'  pass  'em  on,  an'  pass  'em  on  — 
give  nex'  woman  a  fo'  finger  an'  pass 
her  on,  lookin'  out  in  de  hall  for 
nex'  one,  'twell  Big  Bug  come,  den 
brighten  up  lak  brass  kittle  scoured 
wif  vin'gah. 

"  No,  suh !  All  de  folks  I  circles  wif 
gwine  to  git  glad  han'  ef  it  am  a  ole 
brack,  crooked  one,  an'  some  talkin' 
asides,  in  equal  po'tions  an'  no  guest  of 
honor,"  wearily, — "nor  unhonor  — 
needah." 

Dorothy  regretted  the  failure  of  her 

disciplinary  measure,  but  tried  again. 

"Whom  shall  we  have  to  open  the 

door,  Aunt  June?    Just  leave  it  open, 

[55] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

maybe,  if  the  afternoon  is  warm?" 
hoping  for  a  compromise. 

"How  he  gwine  peep  through  de 
crack  to  'member  'em  quick  ef  de  do 's 
open?  Niggers  don'  has  no  cards,  but 
it  do  'em  good  to  see  de  plate  de  culled 
boy  stick  out." 

"Must  he  be  right  black?  Won't  I 
do,  Aunt  June?"  Ralph  again  ven- 
tured. "  I  'm  pretty  black.  Some  folks 
think  I  'm  a  regular  black  sheep,"  fac- 
ing about  to  Nina. 

"Ef  you  open  de  do',  you  holp  ole 
Aunt  June  a  heap." 

Ralph  turned  toward  the  girls  with 
a  swing. 

"Behold  the  grand  past  master  of 

etiquette  and  decorum  at  the  court  of 

St.  James,  Peter,  Paul,  and  the  rest 

of  them.    Watch  me  to-morrow.    Mr. 

[56] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

L.  Chesterfield  will  be  outclassed  in 
his  'How-to-do-it  dope/  The  society 
reporter  acting  as  footman,  house  serv- 
ant, social  adviser,  et  al.  I  foresee  my 
career.  I'll  be  here  by  the  time  the 
morning  stars  sing  together  and  the 
surviving  roosters  in  Alayama  Avenue 
begin  to  salute  the  day  —  to  let  in  the 
first  shaggy  son  of  Ham  and  be  heap 
big  chief." 

"Ralph!  You  must  not  make  fun. 
This  is  not  that  kind  of  a  party.  Poor 
old  Aunt  June  may  not  live  long,  and 
she  takes  this  seriously." 

"  So  do  I,  Nina.  It  is  a  matter  of 
life  and  future  happiness  to  me.  Aunt 
June's  case  isn't  in  it  with  mine  for 
real  danger." 

"Auntie,  let  Uncle  Jerry  tend  the 
door  to-morrow.  He  knows  all  the 
[57] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

folks/'  said  Nina,  desperately  —  in  an- 
swer to  Unk's  signal. 

"  No,  suh !  I  ain'  gwine  has  my  ole 
man  'roun'  my  party.  Not  nowhar 
'roun'.  White  ladies  make  dey  men  eat 
downtown  on  'ception  days  an'  don' 
let  'em  come  home  'twell  las'  woman's 
lef.  Jerry  no  better 'n  white  men. 
Don'  wan'  him  nowhar  'roun'." 

"  Lan'  sake,  Juny,  whar  you  gwine 
put  me  to-morrow?  Seem  lak  I  jes'  has 
to  be  'roun'.  Ef  you-all  takes  dem 
talkin'  ha'nts,  who  keer  for  you  den, 
Juny  ?  "  meekly  inquired  old  Unk. 

"You-all  kin  shet  youse'f  up  in  de 
hen  roost,  Jerry.  Done  clean'd  out,  an' 
hens  shet  out  all  summer.  Cou'se  we 
mought  has  to  usin'  dat  for  ladies'  on- 
dressin'  room,  too, — but  you  kin  shin 
out  de  alley  winder  ef  you  sees  'em 
[58] 


You  all  kin  has  you'  own  way" 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

comin'.    Don'  wan'  folks  say  ole  June 
got  no  manner sment." 

"You-all  kin  has  yo'  own  way,  jes' 
lak  white  woman's  party/'  was  Unk's 
quiet  reply;  but  he  writhed  inwardly 
as  he  went  out  to  inspect  his  quarters 
for  the  morrow,  and  to  prepare  the 
"on-dressin'  room"  for  its  new  honors. 


59] 


Chapter   Three 

The   "Passin'-On"    of  the 
Colored   Guests 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  "PASSIN'-ON"  OF  THE 
COLORED  GUESTS 

"|I>ARTY"  MORNING  found 
A  everything  ready  at  OO4&. 
Woman's  passion  for  slavish  party 
preparation  had  its  way  until  it 
reached  the  saturation  point  in  Grace's 
exclamation:  "Thank  goodness, 
there's  no  attic  to  put  in  order,  nor 
cellar  stairs  to  scrub,  for  this  function, 
anyhow ! " 

However,  nothing  present  escaped. 
The  cabin  had  been  cleaned  to  chilli- 
ness, decorated  to  distraction,  and  re- 
furnished until  it  ached  from  holding 
it  all.  The  very  yard  had  been  swept 
[63] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

and,  as  Ralph  declared,  "  scrubbed  and 
dusted  until  not  a  fishworm  dared 
show  its  head  all  night,  but  went  to 
bed  supperless."  And  Ralph  knew,  for 
he  was  the  first  to  arrive.  When  he 
took  his  place  as  door-opener,  he  de- 
clared : 

"  I  am  not  only  the  Columbus  of  this 
occasion,  but  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
as  well.  See  me  welcome  the  immi- 
grants! Don't  I  need  a  torch,  too,  to 
hold  high  over  my  head?  Darkness 
threatens." 

Nina,  everywhere  at  once,  in  her 
character  of  general  manager,  was 
wisely  silent.  For  a  colored  man  was 
already  there  —  a  negro  policeman,  Mr. 
Theophilus  Bryan,  who,  at  Aunt  June's 
request,  had  been  invited  to  be  present 
and  "assist  through."  His  blue  uni- 
[64] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

form,  with  resplendent  star  and  but- 
tons, was  a  compromise  measure  for 
"Mis'  Morton's  man  servant,"  whom 
the  assisting  ladies  had  ruled  out  as 
inadmissible. 

The  old  woman  seemed  very  ill  that 
morning.  The  girls  were  a-tremble 
with  fear  for  the  day's  outcome,  as 
they  looked  at  her,  lying  there  so  still 
and  lifeless,  her  massive,  raw-boned 
face  like  a  great  black  medallion,  cut 
out  by  snowy  pillow  and  enfolded  neck- 
piece, and  her  rusty  brown  hands,  from 
which  the  toil  callouses  were  pitifully 
scaling,  folded  in  half-open  uselessness 
across  her  breast. 

Jerry  shared  the  girls'  alarm,  but, 

with   masculine   instinct,   calmed  his 

troubled  soul  at  Grace's  improvised 

back-yard  lunch  counter.    When  suffi- 

[65] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

ciently  cheered,  he  spoke  in  slow,  sol- 
emn tones  and  with  bowed  head : 

"  De  day  of  time  am  changin'.  Sho'ly, 
I  nevah  seed  no  such  carryin'  on  'fore 
free  time.  De  Lawd  know!  Mebbe 
He  know.  But  ef  dis  day's  hellebeloo 
make  me  a  widow-man,  I  boun'  to 
'spress  myself  to  Him  'bout  it  —  ef  I 
gits  read  out  of  de  chu'ch  an'  out  of 
Hebben.  But  she  say  she  don'  wan' 
ole  Jerry  nowhar  'roun' — not  nowhar 
'roun'."  So  into  his  banishment  he 
went, —  the  unused  chicken  house  to 
which  Aunt  June  had  sentenced  him. 

At  early  work-going  time,  the  col- 
ored people  began  to  arrive  by  ones, 
twos,  and  threes,  as  they  happened  to 
fall  together,  their  dress  and  manner 
compromised  by  the  occasion.  Their 
garments  were  a  mixture  of  working 
[66] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

clothes,  cast-off  finery,  and  "Sabbath 
handsomes  " —  the  last  worn  only  tem- 
porarily—  very  temporarily,  indeed,  as 
the  newspaper-wrapped  packages  left 
at  the  gate  testified.  Their  manner 
was  uniformly  that  of  sincere  love  and 
pity  for  old  Aunt  June  and  of  reveren- 
tial awe  for  the  social  function  now 
imminent. 

As  they  approached  the  door,  Ralph 
asked  the  name  of  each  guest,  and 
loudly  called  it  out.  Aunt  June,  re- 
fusing to  notice  the  arrival  until  prop- 
erly acclaimed,  shook  hands  formally, 
with  only  small  talk  portions,  "  passin' 
on  "  each  guest  to  the  assisting  ladies, 
for  feeding  purposes. 

"How  you  do,  Mis'  Slautah?"  and 
"  I 's  makin'  out  po'ly  myse'f ,"  with 
suitable  changes  of  name  were  her 
[67] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

replies  to  the  kind-voiced  greetings  of 
her  guests. 

Occasionally,  her  years  of  pent-up 
feeling  overcame  her  feebleness  and 
fine-lady  manners.  Then  she  indulged 
in  a  few  remarks:  "Jes'  passin'  out 
to  de  dinin'-room,  Mis'  Hawkins. 
Heah,  Miss  Nina,  you  give  Mis'  Haw- 
kins her  secon'  cup  of  coffee,  wif  plenty 
of  cream  in  it.  Lan'  know,  she  don' 
git  none  whar  she  gwine  warsh  to-day, 
at  ole  Mis'  Neals's.  Jes'  blue  skim' 
milk  at  dat  house  for  niggers'  warsh- 
day  coffee. 

"  Don'  let  Mis'  Henry  pass  dat  meat 
dish  by.  Don'  you  'member  dat  ole 
Jedge  Gray  allus  eat  downtown  warsh 
days  ?  Dey  don'  has  no  noontime  meat 
cookin'  'twell  suppah  on  dem  days, 
after  niggers  done  gone  home. 
[68] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"Quit  yo'  'bukin'  Lilly  Fortune  for 
laughin'Y'  she  continued,  as  a  neatly 
dressed  mulatto  girl  suppressed  a  gig- 
gle at  the  head-shake  of  a  somber  sis- 
ter. "  Let  Lilly  laugh  her  fill  heah  at 
Mis'  Ferguson's  party.  Lawd  know, 
she  don'  do  none  in  ole  Mis'  Martin's 
cellah,  whar  she  'bliged  to  iron  all  day 
on  dem  ruffle'  party  stuffs.  I  done  tole 
Mis'  Martin,  when  I  cleanin'  'bove 
stairs:  'Lan'  sake,  don'  all  time  be 
hammerin'  an'  hammerin'  dem  gals  for 
talkin'  an'  laughin'  at  dey  ironin'! 
Ought  to  thank  de  good  Lawd  dey's 
decent  7nuff  to  earn  dey  livin'  dat  way. 
Dey  mought  be  stealin'  or  wuss,  lak 
some  other  triflin'  niggers.  Don'  you- 
all  drop  no  money  into  de  preacher  box 
an'  all  time  hammerin'  Lilly!'  I  tell 
her.  '  Preacher  man  slip  it  in  he 
[69] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

pocket  —  but  de  Lawd  don'  tech  dat 
money  wif  a  fishin'  cane/  I  say." 

"  There,  there,  Auntie,  you  are  wear- 
ing yourself  out,"  interposed  Nina, 
who  succeeded  in  keeping  down  the 
greetings  to  hand-shakes  for  some 
time,  while  the  invalid  rested  and  in- 
dulged in  the  fine-lady  habit  of  "  pass- 


in'  'em  on." 


But  when  Ralph  announced  "Mrs. 
Harrison  Wall  and  daughter,"  and  the 
parties  advanced  to  greet  their  hostess, 
she  again  erupted. 

"Moughty  glad  to  see  you-all,  Sis 
Wall.  Is  you  continuin'  a-scrubbin' 
dem  ole  spit  boxes  downtown  to  buy 
dem  Latin  books  for  Henyetta  ?  Lawd 
know,  He  got  a  high-school  d/plome 
waitin'  for  yo'  ole  han'  in  de  Hebbenly 
Ian',  same  as  Henyetta's,  wif  ribbon 
[70] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

on,  an'  all,  ef  you  don'  'quire  one  heah. 

"Henyetta,"  she  went  on,  slowly, 
"ef  I  don'  saw  you  —  no  mo' — you 
call  to  min' — dat  you — nevah  look'n 
down — on  yo'  ole  muddah — an'  call 
her  ole — fogyism  —  even  ef  you  is 
stuck-up  —  school  teacher !  White  skin 
—  don'  make  no  bettah  muddah  dan 
yours,  li'l  Henyetta.  Min'  dat  out  —  ef 
ole  Aunt  June  don'  live  to  see  you  crad- 
uate  at  yo'  school.  Will  you  partaken 
some  'freshments?  Jes'  pass  into  de 
dinin'  'partment."  And  her  voice  was 
gone. 

Some  of  the  guests  were  perempto- 
rily called  upon  the  carpet,  but  the  old 
woman's  condition  and  the  good  food 
in  prospect  prevented  replies  in  kind. 

"Good  mawnin',  Miss  Wildeson." 
This  to  one  who,  arrayed  in  a  baby- 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

blue  silk  dress  and  white  lace  hat,  flut- 
tered across  the  cabin  floor.  "Don" 
forgit  to  rense  dem  clothes  through 
two  watahs  an'  clean  up  de  basement. 
I  hear'n  tell  you  done  forgot  it  las' 
time.  Dat  laundry  git  yo'  job  nex'. 
No  laundry  evah  got  my  warsh  place 

— but  mebbe  now  dey  —  will " 

And  the  old  voice  trailed  off  in  a  grief- 
broken  strain. 

"Miss  Gloriana  Johnson,"  was 
Ralph's  announcement,  as,  with  a 
sweeping  bow,  he  ushered  in  a  slen- 
der yellow  girl,  whose  airy  party  rai- 
ment, somewhat  bedraggled,  was  held 
in  place  by  many  pins.  Her  numerous 
petticoats  were  festooned  into  unequal 
lengths  by  the  same  method.  She  flew 
to  Aunt  June's  bedside  and  clasped  her 
hand. 

[72] 


;Dem  pins  suah  belong  in  de 
Bad  Place  " 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"  My !  Aunty !  how  well  you  look  in 
your  pretty  white  bed  this  morning," 
exclaimed  Gloriana.  "  I  don't  believe 
you  're  very  sick." 

"  Plenty  sick  'miff,  Glory.  I  too  sick, 
I  reckon,  to  wear  yo'  scan'lous  pin 
clo's.  I  suah  afraid  if  I  go  to  Hebben 
I  meet  ole  Missus  up  dar  first  thing, 
an'  she  say,  '  Don'  I  teach  you  not  to 
pin  up  yo'  baik  lak  dat,  Juny?'  Don' 
you  know,  Glory,  mos'  of  de  stylish 
angels  wear  draw-strings?"  Aunt 
June's  great  signboard  finger  pointed 
toward  the  corner  where  were  pasted 
her  flowing-robed  females,  caught  first- 
hand from  the  shoe  polish  posters. 
"  Buttons  good  'nuff  for  de  earf,  Glory 
—  draw-strings  for  Hebben !  But  dem 
pins !  Dey  suah  b'long  in — de  —  Bad 
-Place." 

[711 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

Miss  Gloriana  Johnson  disappeared 
into  the  dinin'  'partment,  where  it  was 
noticed  that  she  ate  little,  and  that  she 
soon  "  went  away  sorrowful." 

Just  then  Ralph  sang  out,  "  Mr.  W. 
A.  Walker/7  and  a  fine-faced,  well- 
dressed  young  colored  man  clasped 
Aunt  June's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Moughty  glad  you  f oun'  ole  Aunt's 
do'  dis  mawnin'.  Wish  you-all  spare 
time  to  sing  jes'  one  song  'fore  you 
go  to  yo'  fine  grocery  sto'  job.  Seem 
lak — I  hone  for  you  choir  boys'  sing- 
in'  mo'  dan  I  hone  for  angel  ban'." 

"Why,  I'll  sing  if  you  want  me  to, 
Aunt  June.  What  shall  I  sing  ?  " 

"Don'  sing  no  hymn  tune.  Sing 
sompin'  lak  'Love  an'  Lady'  songs  at 
white  folks'  'ceptions." 

Stepping  into  the  middle  of  the 
174] 


Fixing  his  eyes  on  the  dusky  face,  the 
singer  began 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

dusky  room  and  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  duskier  face  of  the  old  woman, 
which,  with  its  far-away  look,  seemed 
for  a  time  to  be  alone  in  the  cabin,  the 
singer  began : 

Darling,  I  am  growing  old ; 
Silver  threads  among  the  gold 
Shine  upon  my  brow  to-day. 
Life  is  fading  fast  away. 

As  the  tender  words  floated  out  upon 
the  morning  air,  in  the  rich  melody  of 
the  negro  voice,  all  hearts  within  its 
radius  melted  to  softness,  to  common 
love  and  common  ecstasy  of  fine  feel- 
ing. And  with  the  last  line, 

Life  is  fading  fast  away, 

Aunt  June  closed  her  weary  eyes  for 

a  rest  that  might  be  momentary  or 

might  be  eternal.    Ralph  stepped  behind 

[75] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

the  door  —  to  adjust  his  necktie.  A 
dainty  white  apron  corner  found  the 
moistened  eyes  of  the  "general  man- 
ager." Most  of  the  guests  fled  to 
the  back  yard,  escorted  by  Policeman 
Bryan,  to  find  Uncle  Jerry  rapidly 
beating  it  to  cover,  where,  within  the 
sheltering  walls  of  the  chicken  house, 
he  leaned  his  woolly  head  against  an 
empty  perch  and  moaned  out  his  old 
heart  in  a  monologue  of  prayer  and 
pleading: 

"Lawd,  I  knows  I  ornery  mean, — 
an'  don'  work  to  suit  her, —  an'  I 
humbly  'fess  I  lay  in'  out  to  cast  it  up 
'bout  dis  heah  party  foolishness,  an' 
bein'  'bliged  to  stay  in  dis  ole  chicken 
house;  but,  Lawd,  yo'  arm  am  long, 
an'  ef  you-all  save  her  dis  time,  I  prom- 
ise to  move  in  s'ciety  reg'lar  —  reg'- 
[76] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

lar  —  an'  never  kickin'  none,  ef  you 
spares  her  dis  time." 

Aunt  June  was  evidently  unable  to 
go  on  in  her  present  condition.  A  coun- 
cil was  held  in  the  back  yard,  and  it 
was  decided,  since  the  noon  hour  was 
near,  to  close  the  front  door,  deny  en- 
trance to  the  few  guests  who  might 
appear,  and,  after  the  invalid  awoke, 
to  persuade  her  to  give  up  the  after- 
noon party. 

"Let's  quit  now,  without  asking 
her,"  was  Dorothy's  advice.  "She 
can't  go  on  with  this  —  she  is  too  weak 
to  stand  it." 

"  She 's  too  weak  to  risk  the  disap- 
pointment, too,"  ventured  Ralph,  whose 
heart  was  still  tender  from  the  song, 
but  who  recovered  speedily  to  suggest 
that  a  sign  be  put  on  the  front  door: 
[77] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

"  Gone  to  Dinner,"  or  "  Closed  for  Re- 
pairs." 

But  the  others  preferred  to  accept 
Policeman  Bryan's  offer  to  "guard  de 
front  entrance." 

"Patterole  it,  you  mean?"  asked 
old  Unk  Junk,  with  the  memory  of  the 
slave  days  strong  upon  him. 

"  Not  patterole,  pahtic'lah  for  to  ar- 
rest nobody.  Jes'  say,  '  Mis'  Ferguson 
not  to  home/  which  is  de  only  proper 
society  way  of  answerin'  truthful." 

The  young  ladies,  seeing  that  it  was 
impossible  to  reconcile  Gotham  and 
Africa  without  violating  a  rule  or  two 
somewhere,  went  to  arrange  the  fam- 
ily luncheon.  Later,  on  the  waking  of 
the  invalid,  they  went  into  the  room 
to  begin  arbitration. 

"  Don't  you  think,  Aunt  June,  since 
[78] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

you  are  so  tired,  you  would  better  put 
off  the  rest  of  the  party  until  some 
day  when  you  feel  stronger  ?  "  was  the 
general  manager's  initiative. 

"  Nah,  suh !  I  'm  keepin'  a  eye  single 
to  dis  here  'ception.  Ef  de  Lawd  gwine 
take  me,  He  won'  stop  for  strangers, 
nohow.  Mebbe  you  might  git  dat  snake 
ile  and  reply  it  to  my  right  arm.  Meb- 
be hit 's  de  rheum'tiz  achin'  an'  not  de 
han'-shake  achin'.  But  white  folks 
dat's  comin'  dis  affnoon  don*  shake 
hearty,  lak  niggers  does." 

After  prolonged  search  by  Uncle 
Jerry,  the  snake  oil  was  located  in 
the  "deesh"  cupboard,  which,  under 
temporary  banishment,  was  enjoying 
its  plebeian  self  out  near  the  alley 
fence.  He  "replied"  the  oil  ceremo- 
nially, as  if  it  were  a  sacrament ;  then, 
[79] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

with  a  feeling  of  kinship  for  the  ban- 
ished bottle,  was  returning  with  it  to 
their  twin  Elbas,  when  Nina  asked : 

"  Aunt  June,  don't  you  think  Uncle 
Jerry  could  help  out  in  here  this  after- 
noon ?  Your  arm  might  need  rubbing." 

"  Jerry  ain't  ovahpowahin'  'nuff  for 
no  man  servant.  He  all  time  bowin'  low 
lak  Kaintuk  massa.  Dese  Kansas  folks 
has  to  have  de  gran',  leanin'-back  kin'. 
Jerry  no  swell,  ovahpowahin'  kin'.  I 
askin'  Mistah  Pr01iceman  Bryan  to 
'ficiate  'tween  heah  an'  de  do',  sayin', 
'Will  you-all  walk  upstairs?'  Cou'se, 
am'  no  upstairs  to  go  to — but — " 

"I  lak  to  serve  you,  Mis'  Fergu- 
son," assented  Mr.  Bryan,  "an'  I 
b'lieve,  further,  dat  ef  a  small  deesh 
was  placed  nigh  onto  yo'  bedside,  as 
dese  white  folks  comin'  in,  wif  a  little 
[80] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

silvah  in,  to  be  a  startah,  I  am  suah 
you  would, —  well,  ole  Mis'  Brown 
done  dat  when  she  give  her  birfday, 
an'  some  say  she  re'lized  'bout  two 
dollahs  from  it, —  yes,  sah,  aftah  de 
startah  was  done  took  out." 

Aunt  June  turned  her  head  to  the 
wall  a  minute  before  replying.  "  You 
suah  is  ig'nunt  of  s'iety.  Don'  you 
know  dey  all  passes  in  by  li'l  tickets  at 
de  do'  ?  I  don'  wan'  you  actin'  irreg'- 
lar  lak,  but  jes'  be  puttin'  de  tickets  on 
li'l  pan  an'  carryin'  'em  to  ole  June." 

The  next  remark  of  the  old  colored 
woman  proved  that  these  friends,  who 
thought  they  knew  her,  had  but  dimly 
comprehended  the  deeper  longing  of 
her  soul. 

"  Miss  Grace,  honey  bud,"  she  said, 
"Aunt  June  wan's  you  to  git  dat  li'l 
[81] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

book  you  fin'  in  de  bureau  drawer 
whar  dem  grave  clo's  is, —  an'  my 
spec's  offun  de  clock  she'f,  an'  den  don' 
you  speak  no  mo'  'twell  I  say." 

Grace,  half  frightened  at  the  un- 
usual term  of  endearment,  and  wholly 
fearing  what  might  come,  brought  out 
what  seemed  to  be  a  student's  exercise 
book,  very  much  soiled  and  worn  from 
long  use.  Aunt  June  took  it  and,  with 
much  focusing  of  old  eyes,  turning  of 
leaves,  and  mumbling  of  lips,  tried  to 
read  from  its  pencil-written  pages. 

She  sjoon  exhausted  herself  at  this, 
and  leaned  back  hopelessly  on  her  pil- 
low. Then,  in  a  low  tone  to  Grace, 
that  the  rest  might  not  hear,  she  said : 

"  Seem  lak  I  got  no  tas'e  for  readin' 
dis  aft'noon,  Miss  Grace.  You  is 
pure  good,  honey!  Won'  you  read  it 
[82] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

for  ole  June?  —  jes'  low  lak  —  to  yo' 
ole  Aunt  June." 

Grace  took  the  book  with  a  consent- 
ing nod  to  the  request  for  silence.  This 
was  unconsciously  disregarded  more 
and  more  as  she  read  the  astonishing 
contents.  For  here  were  rows  and 
rows  of  long  words,  many  of  difficult 
pronunciation,  some  of  them  obsolete, 
but  each  written  out  carefully,  with  its 
meaning  following,  as  in  a  dictionary. 
She  began  to  spell  the  words,  as  in  a 
spelling  class  at  school : 

A-NOM'-A-LY—  "Deviation  from 
the  common  rule  or  analogy;  irregu- 
larity." 

AB'-RA-CA-DAB'-RA—  "A    com- 
bination of  letters  without  sense,  for- 
merly used  as  a  charm  against  fevers ; 
unmeaning  babble." 
[83] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

"Why,  Auntie  June!  where  in  the 
world  did  you  get  this  crazy  book,  and 
what  do  you  want  with  it  this  after- 
noon?" 

"Dat  was  Miss  'Liza  Speedeh,  a 
culled  gal,  given  it  to  me,  honey.  She 
was  usen  it  when  she  was  writin'  her 
craduatin'  papah  in  de  high  school. 
I  wan's  some  bettah  wu'ds  dan  com- 
mon for  dis  af t'noon  'casion,  an*  I  done 
forgittin'  so,  sence  dis  'fliction.  Des' 
fin'  some  me-je-ate-siz'd  ones,  Gracie, 
an'  speak  'em  plain  to  yo'  ole  Aunt." 

"My!  Auntie,  you  can't  use  these 
horrid  long  words,  and  folks  would  n't 
understand  you  if  you  did." 

"  Some  of  'em  I  could  use,  honey, 
ef  you  speak  'em  plain  to  make  me 
'member." 

"  Why  do  you  try  such  foolishness  ? 
[84] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Your  own  words  are  all  right  —  just 
the  kind  we  all  love  to  hear.  The  folks 
would  not  want  you  to  change  a  single 
one  of  them.  Throw  away  this  silly 
book,  and  talk  in  your  own  way/' 

"Ef  you-all  won'  read  'em  to  me, 
Miss  Grace, —  but  ole  June  nevah  had 
no  chance  to  Tarn  only  a-b  abs.  Jes' 
only  de  Lawd  evah  teach'  me  His  Bible 
wu'ds,  night  times,  when  ole  Mis'  not 
seein'  me.  Den  I  spell  'em  out  an'  say, 
( Now,  Lawd,  tell  me  de  meanin'  of  dat 
big  one,'  an'  He  suah  'splained  it. 

"  I  has  to  turn  to  de  Lawd  now,  ef 
you  won'  he'p  me  out.  I  say," — clos- 
ing her  eyes, — "'Let  de  wu'ds  of 
my  mouf  be  'ceptable  in  Dy  sight, 
O  Lawd ! '  Ef  de  Lawd  'cepts  'em,  de 
white  folks  'bliged  to.  But  / — keeps 
dat  —  ti'l  book." 

[85] 


Chapter  Four 

«De    White    Folks    I    Circles 
Wif" 


CHAPTER  IV 

"DE  WHITE  FOLKS  I  CIRCLES 
WIF" 

SO  IT  was  that  she  still  clasped 
her  treasured  book  when  the  first 
afternoon  guests  arrived.  A  breezy 
group  of  city  officials,  routed  for  down- 
town, and  led  by  the  Mayor  himself, 
blew  in  through  the  marvelous  yard. 
Overlooking  the  conventionality  of  the 
door-opener,  and  the  obsequious  at- 
tacks of  Brother  Bryan,  they  walked 
straight  to  Aunt  June's  bedside.  They 
were  genuinely  glad  to  see  her,  and 
much  affected  by  the  changed  appear- 
ance of  their  old  friend.  One  by  one, 
they  shook  her  hand  with  the  impress- 
[89] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

ive  man-silence  for  suffering  helpless- 
ness. At  last  the  Mayor  found  his 
voice : 

"I  did  not  realize  that  you  were  so 
ill,  Aunt  June.  How  long  have  you 
been  confined  to  your  bed? " 

Auntie,  very  happy,  but  a  little  con- 
fused at  the  suddenness  of  the  situa- 
tion, tightened  her  grasp  on  her  little 
book  and  answered : 

"I  been  lyin'  heah  'bout  seven  ex- 
zecutive  weeks,  suh." 

"Well,  Auntie,  that  is  as  trying  as 
a  Mayor's  job,  sure,"  broke  in  another, 
"  but  you  '11  both  soon  be  out  now." 

This  loosened  the  tension  of  tight- 
ened heart-strings  and  purse-strings, 
too,  as  the  little  dish  which  Policeman 
Bryan  surreptitiously  had  placed  on  a 
nearby  table,  could  testify.  It  held  sev- 
[90] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

eral  silver  pieces  besides  the  "  stahtah  " 
when  the  gentlemen  departed. 

And  thus  it  went  on  during  the  long 
afternoon.  Incongruous  situations  sus- 
tained themselves  and  unusual  conver- 
sations were  heard.    Topics  tabooed  at 
parties  were  discussed  freely  by  these 
people  of  different  social  rank.     For 
many  walks  of  life  were  here  repre- 
sented.   Some  came  from  its  crooked 
paths,  some  from  its  peaceful  ways  and 
stately  boulevards.    But  they  had  one 
point  of  tangency — a  common  wish  to 
bring  happiness   to   the   old   colored 
woman  whose  kindly  heart  and  faith- 
ful service  was  the  lodestone  of  their 
coming. 

"My!    I've  done  it  now!"  ejacu- 
lated one  of  Nina's  girl  friends,  as  she 
made  a  flying  leap  into  the  back  yard. 
[91] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"Nina,  what  would  you  say  to  me, 
if  I  should  express  a  polite  hope,  at 
your  party,  'that  you  would  soon  be 
able  to  iron  my  shirt-waists  again '  ?  " 

"Just  what  Aunt  June  said,  I  hope. 
What  happened  ? " 

"  Well,  you  'd  never  do  it  better.  She 
surely  reduced  me  to  zero.  Just  calmly 
looked  over  my  new  hat  and  '  gretted 
dat  a  young  lady  of  my  cibility  had  n' 
no  better  raisin ! '  No,  thank  you,  no 
refreshments  forme,  'less  you  got  some 
humble  pie.  Here!  keep  my  hat,  and 
loan  me  that  little  lace  jacket.  I'm 
going  back  to  try  it  again.  1 11  chance 
her  not  recognizing  me,  and  I  can't  go 
home  this  way." 

On  the  crest  of  the  next  crowd,  out 
she  came. 

"  Great !  Girls,  I  talked  of  the  par- 
[92] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

tiest  things  I  could  think  of  —  the  kind 
you  can  give  an  oration  on,  thinking 
how  horrid  your  hostess  looks  at  the 
same  time,  and  never  make  an  error  in 
your  grammar.  Poor  Auntie  is  lying 
there  yet  with  that  glorified  smile  of 
approval  on  her  face.  Well,  girls,  I 
can  always  remember  that,  anyhow,  if 
—  I  don't  see  her  any  more."  An  ice 
soon  dispelled  her  fears,  as  ices  do 
when  life  is  young. 

Having  seen  the  crowd  for  the  time 
disappear  streetward,  Nina  went  into 
the  cabin.  She  was  pleased  to  see  Aunt 
June  resting,  with  closed  eyes.  Only 
one  guest  was  there  —  a  queer,  half- 
scared  little  woman,  who  was  evidently 
a  new  arrival.  Ralph,  in  assisting  her 
to  feel  at  home,  was  relieving  her  of 
the  many  bundles  she  carried,  one  of 
[93] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

which  was  a  leaky  package  of  pancake 
flour.  While  he  was  depositing  all  these 
safely  behind  the  door,  the  little  crea- 
ture, with  true  feminine  instinct  for 
the  social  parade  now  pending,  began 
making  preparatory  changes  in  her 
toilet. 

Her  large,  shapeless  black  hat,  which 
had  mercifully  submerged  much  of  her 
prematurely  wrinkled,  leather-like  face, 
was  removed  and  entrusted  to  Ralph. 
Then  she  endeavored,  with  saliva-mois- 
tened fingers,  to  persuade  her  sparse, 
dun-colored  locks  back  toward  a  but- 
ton-like knot  on  the  top  of  her  head, 
brushed  the  pancake  flour  from  her 
shabby  skirt,  and  dexterously  decoyed 
a  bit  to  her  face.  Next  she  made  in- 
effectual efforts  to  establish  reciprocity 
between  her  skirt  and  a  recalcitrant 
[94] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

calico  shirt-waist,  and,  pulling  a  pair 
of  white  cotton  gloves  over  her  dis- 
torted, weather-beaten  hands,  with  no 
sense  of  impropriety  in  her  public 
"  slickin'  up,"  she  composed  her  trouble- 
dented  features  into  a  semblance  of  so- 
ciability, and  ambled  uncertainly  over 
toward  her  hostess. 

But  old  Aunt  June !  She  was  radiant 
with  welcome.  No  one  in  all  the  day 
received  such  a  smile  and  hand-shake. 
With  her  old  black  face  aglow,  and 
with  feeble  hand  outstretched,  she 
hardly  allowed  the  poor  woman  to 
finish  her  speech : 

"  Don't  guess  you  know  me,  Missus 
Ferguson,  but  my  little  crippled  boy  he 
made  me  come,  'cause  you  always  speak 
so  good  to  him  when  the  children  wheel 
him  apast  here." 

[95] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"  Don'  know  you,  honey !  Bress  yo' 
heart !  I  cog-ni-zen  you  in  Hebben.  I 
don'  know  yo'  name,  but  de  Lawd  — 
He  keep  it  mark'  down.  You-all  done  set 
down  in  de  street  car  seat  one  day  by 
de  side  of  ole  June,  when  no  other 
white  pusson  would  set  dar,  but  kep' 
jammin'  de  islands  full  an'  hangin'  on 
to  de  straps  like  meat  hams.  You  suah 
talk  good,  too,  'twell  I  wa'n't  bilin' 
mad  no  mo',  an'  don't  has  to  'tend  lak 
I  lookin'  fru  de  car  window." 

"Yes,  mom,  Missus  Ferguson," 
slowly  came  the  answer ;  "  I  am  most 
too  done  up  to  stand  sometimes,  comin' 
from  work." 

Aunt  June's  attention  was  momen- 
tarily distracted,  else  her  angel  friend's 
pinions  had  lost  a  feather  or  two  at 
that  juncture. 

[96] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"  You-all  mus'  taken  a  goodly  lotion 
of  cake  to  yo'  li'l  son  when  you  return- 
in'  home,  Mis'  Lady."  The  society 
manner  was  resumed,  and  the  little 
book  joggled  her  elbow.  "Has  you 
ever  replied  snake  ile  to  dat  cripple' 
laig  of  his'n?" 

When  "Mis'  Lady"  returned  from 
"de  dinin'  'partment,"  to  rescue  her 
pancake  flour  from  its  temporary  obliv- 
ion behind  the  door,  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  availed  herself  liberally  of 
Aunt  June's  suggestion  about  the  "lo- 
tion of  cake,"  if  the  large-sized  bundle, 
hung  to  her  right  arm  by  the  securely 
tied  corners  of  an  empty  flour  sack, 
was  an  admissible  witness. 

As  the  afternoon  grew  late,  many 
people  found  their  way  down  the  nar- 
row street  to  the  little  shanty  at  OO4&. 
[97] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

These  were,  for  the  most  part,  Aunt 
June's  old  employers;  but  the  crowd 
was  swelled  by  their  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, newcomers  in  the  town, 
whose  interest  had  been  attracted  by 
the  newspaper  notice  or  the  unusual 
house.  Besides,  there  were  many  of 
the  idly  curious,  to  whom  the  open  door 
and  refreshments  were  sufficient  invi- 
tation. 

Auntie  was  very  happy.  Betimes  she 
played  fine  lady  to  her  heart's  content, 
as  she  did  when  she  received  her  "street 
car"  friend.  Betimes  she  seemed  a 
weakened  invalid,  with  tremulous  voice 
and  shaky  hand ;  but,  following  the  ad- 
ministration of  a  cup  of  strong  tea, 
much  of  her  old-time  felicity  of  speech 
returned,  and  she  displayed,  without 
reserve  or  bitterness,  her  keen  knowl- 
[98] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

edge  of  human  frailty,  acquired  by  the 
long  wash-day  association  with  those 
whom  she  designated  "de  white  folks 
I  circles  wif ." 

"You  sure  tru£  frien'  of  ole  Aunt 
June,  but  I  'm  anxious  you  hurryin'  an' 
taken  dat  mohgage  offun  ole  Dick  Car- 
ter's po'  starve'  mule !  He  been  payin' 
you-all  a  dollah  a  week  'bout  long  'nuff 
now. "  This  to  a  banker  whose  auto  now 
waited  outside,  and  at  whose  cashier's 
window,  it  was  said,  many  troubled 
colored  folk  often  waited  also. 

"  Glad  he  got  his ! "  the  next  man  in 
the  line  said  to  himself,  as  he  heard. 
His  own  turn  came,  however,  when  the 
black  Nemesis  said : 

"  Min'  how  yo'  li'l  gal  cryin'  dat  day 
when  you  cuff  her  years  wif  de  mawn- 
in'  papah  ?  I  done  tole  her  dat  she  got 
[99] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

no  business  singin'   'roun'   'fore  her 
hungry  paw  git  'is  breakfasV 

Then  one  of  the  town's  rising  citi- 
zens, who  was  "making"  this,  among 
other  important  vote-getting  " dates" 
of  the  afternoon,  was  startled  into 
rather  hurried  hand-shaking  by  his 
chauffeur's  tooting  horn.  "  Glad  to  see 
you  looking  so  fine,  Aunt  June.  You 
are  my  wife's  prime  favorite,  when  it 
comes  to  help.  I  'm  a  little  rushed  just 
now — that's  my  car." 

"  I  s'pose  you-all  wan'  to  be  settlin' 
for  dat  autymobile  'fore  you  pays  for 
dat  las'  two  weeks'  warsh  I  done  for 
you?" 

The  candidate  fled,  convinced  that  it 
would  take  more  of  the  "ready"  to 
carry  that  precinct  than  he  happened  to 
have  about  him  at  present. 
[100] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"Dese  autymobiles,  dey's  moughty 
hard  on  de  cullud  people, —  keep  'em 
all  time  hoppin'  'way  from  in  front  of 
'em,  or  jerkin'  our  li'l  warshin'  wagons 
outen  dey  way;  an'  cain't  no  prolice- 
man  ketch  'em,  when  dey's  owin'  folks. 
Sorry  I  bother  dat  genl'man  —  but  I 
moughty  tired  climbin'  dem  stairs, 
axin'  for  dat  money." 

And  on  and  on  went  the  startling 
talk,  until  Ralph  declared  that  he 
learned  more  real  town  history  that 
afternoon  than  would  ever  be  recorded 
by  the  Historical  Society.  "And  all 
wash-day  doings,  too,"  he  added,  little 
recking  that  on  those  festal  days  fam- 
ily skeletons  walk  forth  unabashed  and 
human  nature  flauntingly  parades  its 
hidden  need  of  suds  and  soap. 

He  learned  of  "ole  Mis'  B.,  who 
[101] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

done  hangin'  out  dry  sheets  every  week, 
so'  her  warshin'  look  bigger  an'  make 
her  standin'  good  'mongst  de  neigh- 
bors"; of  "dem  Joneses,  what  nevah 
had  no  table  napkins,  but  lots  of  party 
fixin's";  of  the  "scan'lous  way  you 
gals  sass  yo'  po'  ole  maw,  'cause  she 
ast  you-all  to  warsh  de  deeshes;  ole 
Aunt  June  moughty  nigh  whop'  you  " ; 
how  "  dat  younges'  gal  of  Mis'  Perkin 
jes'  pesterin'  ole  June  to  fin'  out  all 
'bout  how  her  beau's  maw's  silver  am 
marked";  and  all  about  "dat  ole  li'l 
leaky  one  tub  an'  broken  wringah  in 
Mr.  C.'s  basement,  wif  all  dem  hand-- 
some silk  socks  of  his'n.  I  suah  'fraid 
I  tearin'  'em." 

And  then  came  a  whispered  warn- 
ing to  one  immaculate  young  gentle- 
man:   "Lan'  sake,  Jimmie,  don'  you 
[102] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

dare  removin'  yo'  coat,  whar  dem 
society  folks  is,  'cause  dat  shu't  you 
wearin'  got  fine  bosom,  but  got  de  baik 
'most  tore'  off.  My  min'  done  carries 
me  back  to  de  las'  time  I  warsh  it,  an' 
cou'se  it's  worser  now!" 

Some  of  the  hearers  followed  Jim- 
mie  to  see  how  he  conducted  himself  in 
the  face  of  that  revelation.  Others  of 
more  sympathetic  nature  lingered  to 
hear  what  the  next  man  would  get. 
Their  interest  was  lessened  when  they 
learned  that  this  was  Dr.  Barman, 
clearly  on  professional  business,  and 
who  was  the  originator  of  this  home 
treatment  for  rheumatism  with  party 
complications. 

Accompanying  the  family  friend  was 
a  well  known  surgeon,  who  watched 
with  interest  while  Dr.  Barman  took 
[103] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

temperature  and  observed  symptoms. 
Finally,  calling  Nina,  he  said: 

"I  believe  she'll  have  to  stop  this 
thing  pretty  soon.  I  did  not  count  on 
so  high  a  temperature.  Has  she  talked 
much?" 

Nina  admitted  there  had  been  some 
conversation,  and  agreed  to  the  stipu- 
lation that  there  must  be  less  of  it. 

The  invalid  heard  this,  and  plead- 
ingly asked,  "  Would  it  hurt  me  to  use 
jes'  a  few  big  wu'ds,  ef  I  committen  de 
in  ones?" 

Dr.  Barman  assented.  Then,  as  he 
took  Nina  aside  to  finish  his  instruc- 
tions, the  surgeon  who  had  come  with 
him  approached  Aunt  June,  telling  her 
his  name. 

"I  know  you-all,"  forgetting  her 
promise  not  to  talk.  *  You  is  dat  cut- 
[104] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

tin'  doctor.  Cou'se,  you  is  welcome  to 
my  party,  Doctor,  but  you  needn'  be 
plannin'  no  cuttin'  'roun'  dis  ole  nig- 
ger. No,  suh!  Dere's  a  cullud  man 
up  heah,  dey  say,  dat  you  has  clean'  dat 
ole  nigger  all  out  but  de  shell  of  him. 
No,  suh,  Doctor !  Ole  Aunt  June  gwine 
to  Hebben  jes'  as  de  Lawd  made  her ! 
He  smahtah  dan  you  is." 

The  next  guests  were  a  group  of 
colored  people,  who  entered  with  mod- 
est manner  and  interested  air. 

"I  had  an  engagement  later  in  the 
day,"  one  of  the  party  said  to  Nina, 
"  and  wish  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs. 
Ferguson.  We  have  known  her  and 
Uncle  Jerry  for  a  long  time.  We  have 
no  desire  to  intrude  at  an  hour  when 
the  colored  people  are  not  expected,  but 
we  could  not  come  later." 
[105] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

Beyond  asking  the  young  woman, 
"  Is  you  still  pursuin'  yo'  cou'se  in  col- 
lege?" the  hostess  did  little  talking  — 
not  so  much  from  the  doctor's  caution 
as  from  the  fact  that  she  did  not  take 
the  same  interest  in  the  prosperous, 
well-educated  people  of  her  own  race 
that  she  did  in  those  whom  she  thought 
needed  care,  guidance,  or  reproof.  This 
made  Nina  careful  to  accompany  the 
party  to  the  refreshment  table  and  at- 
tend to  their  comfort  in  every  way. 
She  was  glad  to  renew  her  acquaint- 
ance with  the  young  college  girl.  They 
had  been  classmates  in  high  school, 
where  the  color  lines  are  often  inter- 
sected by  those  of  scholarship  and  good 
breeding. 

Inside  the  cabin  now,  a  truce  was  on. 
This  time  it  was  Ralph  and  Aunt  June. 
[106] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

They  were  alone  for  a  few  moments. 
The  young  man  was  quiet,  thinking 
that  the  invalid  was  asleep.  Suddenly, 
in  slow,  solemn  tones,  her  voice  stole 
out: 

"How  you-all  maw  comin'  on?" 
"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Fer- 
guson." Ralph  was  startled  into  the 
manner  of  a  ten-year-old  at  his  first 
party.  He  wished  one  of  the  girls 
would  come. 

"How  you-all  paw  comin'  on?" 
"He  is  quite  well,  too,  Mrs.  Fergu- 
son." What  was  coming  next?   Ralph 
contemplated  calling  some  one.     She 
went  on : 

"How  is  you  makin'  out,  yo'-se'f, 

dese  days,  Mr.  Ralph  ?    You  suah  been 

moughty  'commoda^in'  'roun'  heah  dis 

af  t'noon.    Ole  Aunt  June  boun'  to  ask 

[107] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

de  good  Lawd  blessin'  you  in  de  basket 
an'  de  sto'room  for  all  you  doin'." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Mrs.  Ferguson." 
He  walked  over  towards  the  bed.  "  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  have  always  been  a 
good  bit  ashamed  of  that  beastly  kid 
trick  we  played  on  you  and  Uncle 
Jerry,  throwing  cabbages  and  all  that. 
You  remember,  don't  you  ?  I  am  mighty 
glad  to  have  a  chance  to  tell  you." 

Just  then  Nina  came  in.  Aunt  June 
put  out  her  hand  to  Ralph. 

"Come  by  an'  shake  dis  ole  han', 
boy!  All  dat  clean  wipe'  out  of  my 
min'.  Doin'  good  am  heap  sight  bet- 
tah  dan  sayin'  good ! " 

Then   the  hostess   spirit   returned. 

"  How  yo'  maw  makin'  out  dese  days, 

Mr.  Ralph  ?    Miss  Nina,  you-all  takin' 

dis  fine  young  man  into  de  dinin'  'part- 

[108] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

ment  an'  gittin'  him  some  'f reshments." 

Nina  hesitated  for  an  instant.  The 
keen  old  eyes  missed  something  from 
the  girl's  manner. 

"  Huccom  you-all  not  clever  now,  no 
mo',  lak  you  bein'  to  dem  las'  batch  of 
cullud  folks?  You  quit  lookin'  sassy 
an'  'bukin'  wif  yo'  purty  eyes ! "  For 
there  was  scorn  in  the  girl's  glance. 
She  evidently  objected  to  this  method 
of  reconciliation. 

The  young  chap  showed  his  first 
sign  of  fighting  back.  With  quick  .step 
and  flashing  eyes,  he  led  the  way  past 
the  "dinin'  'partment"  into  a  vine- 
sheltered  path.  Here  he  turned  and 
faced  the  offending  young  lady,  who 
had  followed. 

"  That  was  about  the  limit  in  there," 
he  began,  angrily.  "Can't  a  fellow 
[109] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

sow  a  single  wild  oat,  nor  cabbage, 
neither?  The  one  I  threw  in  here  at 
Unk  Junk  that  evening  was  wild 
enough  —  missed  the  old  fellow  a  foot. 
What's  more,  I'd  shy  another  right 
now,  if  I  had  it.  Sorry  I  ever  packed 
that  old  buggy  of  yours  back  and  put 
it  out  there  in  the  yard.  I  would  have 
smashed  it  if  I  had  thought  you  'd  ever 
act  like  this.  You  could  be  decent 
enough  to  those  darkies — but  me!  — 
Oh,  I  'm  quite  another  story !  You  used 
to  act  as  if  you  cared,  in  the  old  high- 
school  days.  But  lately " 

As  he  swung  into  the  path  again, 
Nina  stepped  in  front  of  him  and  looked 
frankly  up  into  his  angry  face. 

"Can't  you  see,  you  blind  old  gen- 
tleman,   that  you   are  quite   another 
story  ?    I  was  wrong  in  there." 
[no] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

She  held  out  her  hand.  Who  could 
resist  her?  Not  her  old  high-school 
sweetheart.  He  took  the  offered  hand. 
Truth  to  tell,  he  took  all  the  hands  in 
sight,  and  wished  for  more.  The  rest 
is  private  history. 

They  took  the  long  way  to  the  "  dinin' 
'partment,"  around  through  the  front 
yard.  As  they  lingered  a  moment  in 
the  quaint  place,  among  the  flowers, 
the  mischievous  girl  said :  "  My !  But 
you  were  angry!  Would  you  really 
like  to  smash  this  old  buggy  of  mine?  " 

He  laughed,  a  bit  shamefacedly : 

"Not  for  countless  plunks.  That 
was  only  a  figure  of  speech.  'Tren- 
chant verbosity' — you  know.  You 
surely  don't  mind  that." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  she  said,  soberly : 
[in] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"There  is  one  old  buggy  out  here, 
Ralph,  that  I  know  you  '11  never  harm 
—  the  one  over  there  with  the  little 
white  flowers  in  it." 

"You  are  right  again,  little  girl. 
Right  again!" 

The  words  came  slowly.  She 
vaguely  regretted  what  she  had  said. 

"  Oh,  well,  let 's  get  some  lunch.  We 
may  be  needed  inside  the  house  any 
minute." 

As  they  strolled  back,  Ralph  re- 
peated her  words : 

"  We  may  be  needed,  eh  ?  Say,  Nina, 
as  a  rising  young  lady  society  reporter, 
I  dare  not  imperil  my  English,  nor  my 
budding  affections,  either.  Honestly, 
was  that  an  editorial  'we'  you  used 
just  now?" 

[112] 


Chapter   Five 

Where   Social   Circles 
Intersect 


CHAPTER  V 

WHERE  SOCIAL  CIRCLES 
INTERSECT 

NINA'S  answer  was  lost  in  Grace's 
voice  from  the  door,  telling  them 
to  "come  quick."  Fearful,  they  hur- 
ried in,  to  find  that  'twas  not  a  physi- 
cian who  was  needed,  but  a  social 
arbiter. 

The  situation  was  critical.  Mrs.  J. 
George  Wetherington's  stylish  turn- 
out was  drawn  up  at  the  gate.  Her 
liveried  coachman,  footman,  and  maid- 
of-all-work,  combined  into  the  person- 
able colored  man,  William,  was  even 
now  assisting  her  to  alight.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  would  be  upon  them  — 
[us] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

she,  whose  raiment  was  always  in  ac- 
cord with  this  morning's  eastern  fash- 
ion quotation !  she,  whose  parties  were 
town  history ;  rooms  the  darkest  at  the 
daytime  doings  —  the  very  lightest  at 
the  evening  functions  —  and  always  so 
packed  that  to  lift  a  cautious  kerchief 
to  a  bourgeois  brow  was  to  prod  an 
honored  guest  with  a  well-meaning  but 
clumsy  elbow ! 

"Why,  they  keep  her  name  set  up 
in  the  Clarion  office,  to  save  time,  ready 
for  her  daily  bulletin,"  was  Ralph's 
remark. 

"Well,  she  is  upon  us  now,  at  any 
rate,  and  this  lady  will  have  to  do  her 
handsomest.  Expect  we  'd  better  hide 
all  that  heavy  food  in  the  bushes,  and 
serve  her  aerated  water  and  Auntie 
June's  'wafahs'."  This  was  Grace's 
[116] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

contribution,  as  she  scudded  to  her  task 
as  head  waiter. 

Oh,  to  make  everything  go  right  just 
now  and  to  please  the  sick  woman,  who 
had  absorbed  most  of  her  "party 
hankerin'"  from  "holpin'  at  Mis' 
Wethahin'ton's  'ceptions "  !  And  not 
one  of  Aunt  June's  "  assisting  ladies  " 
had  ever  managed  a  party  before ! 

"  Look  a-coming ! "  sang  out  Ralph. 

The  situation  was  complicated  as 
well  as  critical.  A  stout  peddler  lady, 
who  infested  the  neighborhood,  had 
followed  Mrs.  J.  George  up  the  path, 
and  was  marooned  under  the  insuffi- 
cient shade  of  a  bush,  fanning  herself 
into  breath,  and  out  of  color,  prepara- 
tory to  charging  the  cabin.  A  provi- 
dential delay  was  this,  preventing  a 
probable  collision  between  labor  and 
[117] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

leisure,  and  giving  Mrs.  J.  George  an 
opportunity  to  make  a  stage  entrance. 

And  it  was  well  done.  The  recep- 
tion committee's  greetings  were  grace- 
fully acknowledged.  Mr.  Policeman 
Bryan's  invitation  to  "passin'  up- 
stairs" was  refused  in  a  considerate 
and  ladylike  manner.  Then,  preceded 
by  that  curving  "genTman,"  who  bore 
aloft  her  "  name  ticket  in  de  li'l  pan," 
in  a  best  arm  waiter  style,  Mrs.  J. 
George  made  a  slow,  triumphal  proces- 
sion across  the  room. 

Though  the  sun  denied  it,  Aunt 
June's  life  clock  was  striking  twelve. 
As  she  watched  this  finished  product 
cross  her  humble  floor,  in  all  the  glory 
of  summer  dressmaking  and  flaunting, 
feathered  millinery,  Dame  Fashion  her- 
self seemed  to  have  arrived.  Mrs. 
[118] 


Aunt  June  watched  this  finished  product  cross  her 
humble  floor 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Wetherington  stood  at  the  bedside  for 
a  moment  longer  than  the  social  law 
requires,  giving  her  old  friend  a  lib- 
eral "  lotion  of  party  talk."  Aunt  June, 
supremely  happy,  lay  basking  in  the 
effulgence  of  this  crowning  moment. 

"How  —  Mr. —  George  —  stan'in'  it 
dese — days?"  she  asked,  not  so  much 
for  information  as  to  prolong  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  occasion. 

Twas  a  fatal  delay.  "  When  Caesar 
had  crossed  the  Rubicon,  Pompey  pre- 
pared for  battle."  Substitute  suitable 
nouns,  and  you  have  the  situation. 
While  this  exchange  of  courtesies  was 
going  on,  the  peddler  lady  had  not 
been  idle.  Backed  by  her  overcom- 
ing personality  and  expansive  physique, 
she  had  flung  aside  Ralph's  "Your 
name,  Madam?"  and,  with  the  gait 
[119] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

and  manner  of  a  charging  hippopota- 
mus, was  in  the  center  of  the  little 
room  unfolding  and  displaying  her 
goods  and,  in  the  best  school- for-agents 
manner,  disgorging  her  selling  speech 
from  one  corner  of  her  spacious  mouth, 
while  from  the  other  she  issued  quiet- 
ing proclamations  to  her  interrupters : 

"  Can't  I  sell  some  o'  you  something 
to-day?  Oh,  no,  I'll  not  bother  her 
any  —  pins  uv  all  kinds,  needles,  face- 
bleach,  beads,  buttons  —  I'm  a  pore 
woman  with  six  children  and  a  hus- 
band that's  sick  most  uv  the  time, — 
hair  dyes,"  glancing  portentously  at 
Mrs.  J.  George. 

"Just    step   this   way,    where   it's 
cooler,    Madam,"   ingratiatingly  sug- 
gested Ralph,  in  a  low  tone.     "There 
are  chairs  out  here." 
[120] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

"Thank-ee,  Mister,  but" — raising 
her  voice  and  continuing  to  glance  at 
the  woman  of  fashion — "this  is  the 
best  kind  o'  stuff  fur  the  complexion  — 

can't  tell  it  at  this  distance  from " 

But  the  low-keyed  tones  of  Mrs.  J. 
George  neither  sharped  nor  flatted,  as 
a  less  perfect  lady's  might  have  done. 

Policeman  Bryan  was  wild.  In  re- 
sponse to  the  girls'  frantic  pantomime, 
he  was  making  little  circling  excur- 
sions about  the  enemy,  as  if  in  search 
of  a  point  of  attack,  uttering  mean- 
while low-voiced  threats: 

"  Ef  you-all  don'  stop  dis  racket  an' 
beat  it  out  of  heah " 

"Lay  on,  MacDuff!"  Ralph  was 
having  the  time  of  his  life. 

Entirely  undisturbed  by  the  colored 
gentleman's  gyrations,  the  peddler  lady 
[121] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

went  cruelly  on,  her  shrill  voice  filling 
all  the  place.  "I've  got  some  great 
medicine  here,  too  —  Dr.  Small's  Kur- 
ake.  Cures  ever'thing — jes'  ever 
kind  uv  ache  er  pain." 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Ralph's  hand  was 
rattling  the  silver  in  his  pocket,  and 
he  ran  around  in  front  of  the  rotund 
lady,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
seen  the  light  and  means  to  follow  it. 

"  Here,  Madam,  let  me  look  at  that 
medicine  a  minute  —  lady  with  a  bad 
case  of  refractory  heart  trouble  —  I'd 
like  her  to  try  a  bottle  of  it.  Tried 
everything,  but  nothing  seems  to  do 
her  any  good.  Step  over  towards  the 
door.  I  '11  read  the  testimonials,  and  if 
they  sound  all  right,  I  might  buy  it 
regularly." 

It  worked  —  that  is,  the  ruse  did. 
[122] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

With  timely  jingles  of  silver,  Ralph  led 
the  commercial  lady  over  near  the  door- 
way, then  by  degrees  quite  outside  the 
door.  And,  like  a  collapsed  cyclone, 
she  presently  ambled  out  of  the  yard 
—  conquering,  or  conquered  —  who 
shall  say? 

The  young  newspaper  man  re- 
turned to  the  room,  with  tightly 
closed  lips  and  an  unreadable  face. 
Without  a  glance  at  his  friends,  he 
walked  over  and  placed  a  large  bottle 
("dollar  size,"  Grace  said)  on  the 
clock  shelf,  beside  Aunt  June's  spec- 
tacle case. 

And  Mrs.  J.  George?  Ah,  she  knew 
her  business  and  worked  at  it  consist- 
ently! With  the  help  of  a  fluttering 
little  fan,  she  dallied  with  the  uncon- 
ventionalities,  and  though  her  eyes 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

flashed  occasionally,  she  finally  went 
as  she  came  —  Aunt  June's  exemplar 
in  social  affairs.  "Good-by,  Aunt 
June.  I  have  really  stayed  too  long, 
but  your  house  is  so  dear.  Yes,  I  '11 
have  some  refreshments,  though,  and 
William  is  waiting."  And  she,  too, 
vanished. 

Mrs.  Ferguson  was  the  only  one 
with  enough  breath  left  to  speak,  and 
she  turned  wearily  on  her  pillow  and 
drawled:  "Am  dat  peddlin'  woman 
clean  gone?  Wisht  I  got  myse'f  li'l 
pair  dem  pink  pearline  beads." 

Ralph  fell  out  of  the  door,  and  the 
incident  closed  for  all  but  Mrs.  J. 
George's  coachman.  "William"  was 
a  late  importation  from  "  San  Louie," 
and  a  wise  and  wily  person  sure  was 
he.  While  the  source  of  his  monthly 
[124] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

wage  check  was  effulging  the  cabin 
with  her  presence,  William  was  busy 
attending  the  party  himself.  Not,  how- 
ever, in  the  capacity  of  a  servant.  But 
it  took  skill.  For  while  the  lady  would 
sit  closely  at  his  side  on  a  buggy  seat 
in  the  trips  about  town,  much  to  the 
amusement  of  these  Western  people, 
he  well  knew  that  she  would  never 
share  a  hostess'  hand-shake  with  him. 
So  William,  to  use  his  own  construc- 
tion, "cons'quented."  When  his  em- 
ployer was  safely  indoors,  he  went 
swiftly  to  an  old  man  whom  he  saw 
in  the  back  yard.  Not  knowing  the 
Fergusons,  he  wished  to  feel  his  way. 
By  this  same  old  gentleman  he  was 
led  to  the  lunch  table  and  fed  to  full- 
ness. He  then  hurried  around  to  the 
front  door,  without  discovering  that 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

the  accommodating  old  gentleman  who 
followed  him  was  the  exiled  host  of 
this  occasion. 

All  this  was  timed  so  accurately  that 
when  Mrs.  J.  George's  high-heeled 
boots  were  tapping  the  splinters  of 
the  back  door  sill,  William  of  "  San 
Louie"  was  carefully  lifting  his  red- 
buttoned  patent-leather  pumps  over 
the  front  threshold.  A  moment  later 
he  stood  within  the  little  room,  in  all 
the  glory  of  his  half-livery  —  which  is 
about  all  that  Kansas  people  will  stand 
for.  With  an  ivory-lined  smile,  he 
began : 

"Ah'm  Mistah  William  Jeems 
Evans,  formahly  of  San  Louie,  and 
Ah  'm  engagin'  in  business  in  yo'  town 
at  de  present  time." 

"Whar  you-all  workin'?"  Twas 
[126] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

surely  Aunt  June,  but  it  sounded  like 
the  snap  of  a  rat-trap. 

"Ah  'm  engagin'  in  de  livah'ry  bus'- 
ness,  an'," — a  glance  showed  that  the 
wearer  of  the  white  feather  was  still 
eating  an  ice, — "Ah'm  askin'  de  ole 
cullud  genTman  out  dah  ef  Ah 
m  ought  'spressify  mah  congratula- 
tions to  you."  Another  fearful  glance 
yardward  revealed  a  gloved  hand 
placing  a  teaspoon  on  a  plate.  "An' 
he  say  Ah  m  ought  git  in,  but  he 
wouldn'  come,  fearin'  to  distu'b  you. 
Ah  tole  'im," — a  minute  more  now, — 
"  for  to  come  on  in, —  dat  in  San  Louie 
Ah's  allus  gone  to  all  de  stylish  par- 
ties." 

Aunt  June  was  furious.  "He's 
lyin',  same  as  you  is.  Everybody  wec- 
com  at  my  'cepshun  ef  —  ef  he  am' 
[127] 


Ttte    Passin'-On    Party 

boas'in'  an'  blowin'  lak  a  wind  snake 
layin'  in  de  pasture.  Whah  you  liv- 
in'at?" 

"Ah  residin'  at  de  presn'  time  at 
mah  'partmen's  ovah  mah  place  of 
bus'ness." 

"  You  tell  dat  ole  fool  man  come  in 
heah,  when  you  goin'  towards  dat  dar 
place  of  bus'ness,  kine  of  sudden  lak — 
I  'm  no  San  Louie  lady,  but  I  knowin' 
dat  ole  coat  you-all  wearin' !  Done 
seed  plenty  of  Mis'  Gawge  Wethahin'- 
ton's  drivers  sweatin'  in  dat  ole  coat, 
hot  July  day,  when  she  'tendin'  dem 
gardenin'  parties,  as  she  call  'em.  Don' 
you  know  what  liahs  gwine  kotch? 
We-uns  got  ten  comman'-men's  out 
heah  in  Kansas,  an'  we  us'n'  'em, 
too.  Now,  you  git ! " 

William  got.  When  the  white  feather 
[128] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

conveyed  its  owner  down  the  path, 
William  passed  into  place  properly, 
and  Unk  Jerry  watched  the  strange 
pair  disappear  around  the  corner  of 
the  little  street.  "I  suah  hope  dat's 
de  las'  of  dat  kin'/'  he  muttered. 
"Anyhow,  ef  Juny  kin  stan'  dat  coon 
in  dar,  she  boun'  to  stan'  ole  Jerry.  I 
bettah  git  in  kin'  o'  sly  lak — 'thout 
makin'  trouble." 

That  was  why,  at  the  first  un- 
guarded moment,  an  old  colored  gen- 
tleman crawled  along  the  cabin  floor 
to  a  strategic  position  quite  out  of 
Aunt  June's  sight,  and  stretched  him- 
self, full  length,  at  the  foot  of  her  bed, 
where  he  was  seen  later  to  be  indul- 
ging in  a  much-needed  afternoon  nap. 

Fortunately,  the  next  comers  were 
inexperienced  in  social  affairs,  so  the 
[129] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

sight  of  the  host's  prostrate  form,  and 
the  fact  that  they  were  obliged  to  step 
over  it  to  reach  the  hostess'  side,  did 
not  disturb  them.  It  was  a  group 
of  little  girls  from  Dorothy's  Sunday- 
school  class.  They  meekly  took  the 
hurdle  with  little  preliminary  hops  and, 
with  unmoved  faces,  lifted  calm  eyes 
to  Dorothy  for  direction. 

She  delayed  her  nod  toward  Aunt 
June's  bedside,  to  feast  her  eyes  upon 
the  sight.  As  they  stood  there  in  all 
the  charm  of  bare-headed,  sweet- faced 
little-girl  beauty,  in  their  best  summer 
frocks,  each  holding  close  in  half-bare 
arms  a  bunch  of  yellow-hearted  field 
daisies  that  clustered  lovingly  about 
the  childish  faces,  they  made  a  spot  of 
sunshine  within  that  little  place,  too 
long  unused  to  such  a  sight. 
[130] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

An  instant  later,  at  Dorothy's  beck- 
oning smile,  they  moved  shyly  bed- 
ward,  though  the  tiniest  one  fell  behind, 
"cause  it  looked  so  much  like  Little 
Red  Riding  Hood's  g'an'muvver,  that 
—  was  n't — a  —  really-an'-truly  one." 

But  the  leader  spoke  up  bravely: 
"  Auntie  June,  here 's  some  flowers  for 
you.  Margaret's  mamma  took  us  all 
out  to  the  daisy  field,  and  we  picked 
them  ourselves." 

One  by  one,  the  pink  little  palms  sur- 
rendered their  moist  treasures  to  the 
fever-dry  hand,  which  carried  each 
posy  to  the  glorified  black  face ;  then, 
as  it  passed  its  crackling  touch  to  a 
sunny  or  a  sun-browned  head,  some  of 
those  who  witnessed  the  simple  cere- 
mony found  their  eyes  too  dim  to  see 

[131] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

much  more.  But  the  old  voice  crept 
out,  in  almost  childish  joy: 

"De  Lawd  suah  bress  you  forevah 
an'  evah  for  goin'  to  so  much  trouble 
for  yo'  po'  ole  Aunt!  I  ter'ble  'bliged 
to  you,  deahs.  I  wan's  dese  flowers  put 
all  out  heah  over  dis  baid,  so  's  I  touch 
'em  to  cool  off  my  ole  hot  han's,  Miss 
Nina." 

Deftly,  Nina  placed  the  yellow-eyed 
blossoms  all  about  the  old  face  and 
over  the  white  spread,  until  the  corner 
glowed  with  bloom. 

"But  we  brought  you  sompin'  else, 
Auntie  —  look  here!  Open  the  box 
yourself.  Watch  out.  Maybe  they'll 
bite ! "  cheerily  sang  out  another  little 
girl,  as  she  put  a  thread  box  in  the 
crinkled  hand. 

"  No,  'taint't  a  mouse  at  all  —  not  a 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

really  one.  It's  penwipers  —  two  of 
'em.  Made  'em  ourselves  over  at  Mil- 
lie's this  morning.  We  was  going  to 
send  'em  to  the  heathen,  but  Millie  said, 
'  Le  's  give  'em  to  Auntie  June,'  and  her 
mamma  said  we  could  bring  'em  our- 
selves this  afternoon.  No,  they  won't 
really  bite!  Jes'  put  your  pen  right 
'minder  that  mouse's  feet  there." 

Poor  old  Aunt !  Twas  a  tender  spot 
to  probe  thus.  But  she  was  game.  "  I 
b'lieves  I  'bout  out  of  penswipers, 
honey,  an'  I  glad  to  git  dese.  I  ain'  got 
much  tas'e  for  writin'  since  I  got  de 
rheum'tiz,  but  I  put  dem  right  'bout 
heah  on  my  piller,  so's  to  hab  'em 
handy.  Good-by  to  you,  li'l  honey- 
buds.  Miss  Nina,  see  dese  li'l  ladies 
hab  some  'freshments." 

At  this  juncture,  a  woolly  head  rose 
[133] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

turtle-like  over  the  footboard.  "  See 
heah,  Juny,  whaffor  you- all  gwine 
keep  dem  fool  mouses  so  close  to  yo' 
face  for?  Dey  mought  come  to  life 
an'  run  down  yo'  froat."  This  was 
Jerry's  facetious  method  of  making 
the  wife  of  his  bosom  forget  the 
chicken-house  ukase,  and  cancel  its  en- 
forcement. 

"Nevah  you  min'  'bout  mouses, 
Jerry.  Dese  ain'  no  reg'-lah  mouses. 
Dem 's  education  signs.  I  'm  layin'  out 
to  keepin'  'em  right  heah  an'  'splay  'em 
'fore  some  Kansas  niggers  dis  ebenin' 
ef  dey  come  heah.  Dey  all  time  callin' 
us  slave  niggers,  'Ole  Fogyism.'  I 
boun'  on  gittin'  'em  tole  sompin'  when 
dey  come  heah.  I  '11  suah  1'arn  'em  a 
few  things ! " 

She  more  than  kept  her  promise. 
[i34] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

Not  only  did  Aunt  June  "Tarn  dem 
niggers  sompin',"  but  her  young  white 
friends  were  there  taught  some  things 
not  found  in  a  college  course.  And  in 
this  she  was  ably  assisted  by  her  most 
unusual  guests. 


[i35l 


Chapter  Six 
God-Given-inities 


CHAPTER  VI 
GOD-GIVEN-INITIES 

THE  late  afternoon  callers  were  for 
the  most  part  colored  people  — 
true  sons  and  daughters  of  Africa, 
homeward  bound  from  their  daily  tasks 
—  the  happiest  toilers  under  the  sun! 
Remember  that,  ye  who  blame  or  ridi- 
cule! 

All  classes  were  there  —  bent  old 
black  folk  of  "  'fore  free  time,"  whose 
memories  were  sanctified  by  time  and 
distance;  embittered  ones  who  had 
shared  the  tussle  and  the  heart-ache  of 
reconstruction;  and  the  youngest  set, 
the  product  of  the  white  man's  kindly' 
meant,  but  somewhat  misfit,  educa- 
[139] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

tional  policy.  Fifty  years  of  history 
— history  that  the  world  has  watched 
—  was  gathered  about  that  old  black 
woman's  bed. 

Mrs.  Ferguson's  party  "hanker" 
began  to  show  sign  of  satiation.  "  These 
folks  are  tired,  Aunt  June.  Shall  we 
not  put  some  chairs  in  here  and  pass 
the  refreshments?"  Nina  suggested. 
And  so  the  "dinin'  'partment"  and 
"passin'-on"  features  were  aban- 
doned. As  the  company  was  seated 
within  the  little  room,  funereal  silence 
prevailed ;  but  later,  when  Ralph  passed 
cake  and  coffee  "  to  the  side  lines,"  as 
he  phrased  it,  they  all  got  "into  the 
game,"  and  the  talk  became  general. 

And  what  talk!  Politicians,  would 
you  know  how  to  trim  your  sails  ?  Phi- 
lanthropists, would  you  find  where  to 
[140] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

turn  your  helping  hand?  Educators, 
would  you  be  wise  for  your  great  task? 
Dramatists,  would  you  discover  how 
to  combine  sound  and  gesture,  voice 
and  voiceful  body,  rhythmical  motion 
and  musical  tone,  until  expression 
meets  more  than  half  way  the  un- 
formed thought  ?  Then  find  you  such 
a  gathering  of  the  new-old  people 
of  the  African  race  —  slaves  and  cap- 
tives of  the  long  ago,  freed  by  blood- 
shed, transplanted  with  much  question 
into  this  Western  country,  there,  as  it 
chanced,  to  meet  and  be  molded  by  our 
Western  civilization.  There  are  few 
richer  fields  for  human  story,  nor  few 
more  difficult  of  successful  harvesting, 
than  was  that  humble  cabin  crowd  on 
this  late  summer  afternoon. 

For   who   shall   do   justice  to   the 
[141] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

group  ?  There  was  "  Sis'  Liza  Logan/' 
whose  white  dress  failed  to  cover  a 
darker  one  beneath,  due,  perhaps,  to 
the  fact  that  to-morrow's  laundry  cus- 
tomer was  fully  two  sizes  smaller  than 
was  Liza  herself.  There  was  Aunt 
Rosan,  a  little  old  ex-slave,  who  wore 
the  head  kerchief  of  her  girlhood  days. 
She  had  brought  a  white  apron  along 
for  the  adorning  of  her  daughter,  Mrs. 
Morgan,  which  apron  was  now  per- 
forming that  duty  as  best  it  could, 
albeit  it  was  tied  over  the  long  dark 
gingham  one,  which  its  wearer  had 
failed  to  leave  with  her  scrub  bucket 
outside  the  door.  This  short-sighted- 
ness might  have  been  caused  by  the 
fact  that  the  bucket's  owner  and  user 
carried  one  eye  in  a  sling. 

Next  sat  Mr.  Erastus  Moore,  rag 
[142] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

picker  by  occupation,  and  near  him  his 
crazy  wife.  Mr.  Moore  was  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  or,  to  be  exact,  in  his 
shirt  sleeve,  the  other  having  been 
torn  off,  its  absence  adding  the  final 
touch  to  an  already  inadequate  toilet. 
The  crazy  wife,  Clementina,  was  en- 
tirely indifferent  to  her  husband's  un- 
party-like  raiment,  as  well  as  to  her 
own — a  sure  sign  of  feminine  mental 
upsetness.  She  was  large,  fat,  and 
only  comfortably  insane.  She  imag- 
ined herself  to  be  some  one  else,  and 
her  impersonations  were  not  always 
suited  to  her  size.  Then  there  was 
a  young  college  student,  Mr.  Solomon. 
Among  all  these,  but  not  of  them, 
since  he  occupied  the  seat  of  honor,— 
a  revolving  office  chair  of  judicial  mem- 
ory,—  sat  Brother  Marcus.  His  broad- 
[143] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

cloth  coat  and  lime-covered  shoes  be- 
trayed both  his  vocation  and  his  avoca- 
tion. He  was  now  a  plasterer,  but  a 
one-time  preacher,  and  still  the  prime 
comforter  of  his  people  when  their 
hearts  were  sorest.  Somewhat  lame 
and  rheumatic,  he  carried  a  cane, 
which,  with  the  revolving  chair,  he 
found  very  convenient  when  he  wished 
to  address  a  remark  to  some  one  behind 
him,  or  to  make  an  emphatic  gesture. 

This  was  the  group  of  guests,  while 
in  and  out  among  them  still  went  the 
young  white  folk  at  their  self-imposed 
task  of  serving  all  with  food  and  of 
seeing  that  Aunt  June  was  comfort- 
able. Unk  Jerry  kept  his  favorite  place 
at  the  foot  of  the  great  bed,  as  from 
this  vantage  point  his  watchful  old 
eyes  could  miss  neither  movement  nor 
[144] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

change  in  the  appearance  of  the  in- 
valid. 

The  flower-decked  bed  startled  them 
all,  at  first. 

"Hit's  a  sign!"  gasped  Sis'  Liza 
Logan,  as  she  dropped  her  hostess' 
hand.  "Hit's  a  sign  de  Lawd  gwine 
take  'er,  suah ! " 

"Sign,  nuffin'!"  answered  Mrs. 
Morgan,  in  a  whisper,  as  she  nerv- 
ously smoothed  her  outer  apron.  "I 
calls  dat  a  leadin'.  Ef  done  be  de  Lawd 
take  'er,  dar's  all  dem  fun-neh-al 
flowahs  on  dat  baid  free  fo'  nuffin'. 
Seem  lak  dat  Fun-neh-al  Flowah  Club 
moughty  wea'ysome  havin'  to  pay  out 
warsh  money  fo'  flowahs  all  time.  An' 
it's  gittin'  pow'ful  of 'en,  too,"  whis- 
pering lower.  "B'leeves  I'll  unjine 
from  dat  club  ef  I  don'  git  no  flowahs 
[i45l 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

when  I  die."  The  thought  wrung  her 
heart,  and  she  wiped  her  well  eye. 

"Hue com  you-all  whisp'rin'  all 
time?" 

'Twas  crazy  Clementina,  the  imper- 
sonator, who  spoke.  She  had  risen  and 
was  glaring  at  them  in  a  commanding 
manner.  "I'm  a  teacher,  an'  I  don' 
'low  no  whisp'rin'  in  here."  The  women, 
startled  at  the  words,  stood  non- 
plussed and  dumb. 

"Now,  now,  Tiny,"  her  husband, 
Rastus,  answered,  "you-all  mus'n'  be 
no  teacher  here."  Then,  to  the  fright- 
ened women:  "Clementina  all  time 
'magine  she  teacher,  er  somebody  else, 
'cept  jes'  herse'f.  She  don'  mean  no 
harm,  nohow.  Jas'  in  'er  min'."  Then, 
coaxingly :  "  Now,  Tiny,  don'  you  'mem- 
bah  you  promise'  ef  I  'low  you  to  come 
[146] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

to  dis  party,  you  won'  be  no  teacher 
here  —  dat  you-all  be  a  lady  ?  " 

"  But  I  hear'n  mo'  whisp'rin'  up  dar 
in  de  lof ' !  Cain't  be  no  lady  no  mo' ! 
Whar  dat  whisp'rin'  gwine  on  ?  "  Then, 
in  a  fearful  voice:  "Dem's  de  whis- 
p'rin' ha'nts ! "  And,  with  a  Lady  Mac- 
beth stride,  she  was  preparing  for 
flight. 

"  I  am  a  transmigrationist  from  now 
on.  I  believe  this  is  my  old  fifth  grade 
teacher,  rehabilitated.  She  used  to  have 
that  identical  trouble  in  her  mind." 
Ralph's  aside  remark  was  lost  on  most 
of  the  crowd,  for  Aunt  June  was  sav- 
ing the  day. 

"Cou'se,  Clemma,"  she  strategized, 

"dis  ain'  no  suah  'nuff  school;  but  ef 

you 's  a  teacher,  you  mos'  boun'  to  look 

over  my  copy  han'writin'  books  up  on 

[i47] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

dat  clock  she'f ;  an'  heah  am  a  fraish 
penswiper.  Jes'  use'  up  my  ole  ones." 

Clementina  was  soon  busy  and  sane 
again,  contentedly  turning  the  leaves 
of  the  pile  of  "  writing  books  "  which 
Jerry  put  into  her  hands.  She  assumed 
a  critical  air  as  she  scrutinized  the 
scrawling  that  Aunt  had  called  "my 
copy  han'-writin'." 

The  superior  knowledge  displayed 
by  the  hostess  awed  the  crowd  momen- 
tarily—  all  except  Mr.  Solomon,  the 
college  man. 

"  Did  n't  know  you  were  a  scribe, 
Mrs.  Ferguson !  Do  you  write  the  slant 
hand  or  the  vertical  ?  " 

A  look  from  the  old  eyes  warned 
him  of  danger.  She  did  not  risk  a 
reply. 

"That  means,  do  you  make  the  let- 
[148] 


The   Passin'- On   Party 

ters  stand  up  or  lean  over  ?  You  know, 
some  instruct  by  one  method,  and  some 
prefer  the  other."  Mr.  Solomon  went 
gayly  on  to  his  fate. 

"  You-all  don'  know  nuffin',  boy !  I 
make  dem  letters  jes'  as  I'm  feelin' 
—  some  a-leanin',  some  a-stan'in',  an' 
some  a-settin'.  Ole  Mr.  Chase  done 
make  me  a  Chris'mas  gif '  of  dem  han'- 
writin'  books,  long  time  'go,  'cause  he 
hear  his  li'l  gal  tryin'  teach  me,  an' 
I  'm  workin'  an'  workin'  at  'em  nights. 
Ef  I  do  'em  'fore  I  sayin'  my  prayers, 
w'y,  dey's  leanin'  over;  ef  I  writin' 
after  I  sayin'  my  prayers,  dem  ole  let- 
ters stan'in'  up  mighty  fine.  An'  some 
nights,  when  I  'm  happy  in  de  Lawd, 
lak  a  Sunday  —  w'y,  dey's  leanin'  'way 
back.  An'  dat's  —  dat's  all  I  knows 
'bout  yo'  slant  an'  vertigo.  Lettahs  jes' 
[i49] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

lak  folks,  I'm  a-tellin'  you.  Folks  is 
folks,  no  mattah  wedder  dey  settin'  or 
stan'in'.  Some  folks  don'  spell  no  wu'ds, 
needah,  dey's  jes'  question  marks  an' 
stops."  She  turned  impatiently  on  her 
pillow.  Her  prospective  triumph  was 
but  dust  and  ashes.  Her  hope  of  "  1'arn- 
in'  dem  Kansas  niggers  sompin' "  with 
her  writing  book  and  her  penwipers 
had  fallen  to  earth. 

The  preacher,  however,  was  roused. 
He  gave  a  threatening  glare  at  the  stu- 
dent Solomon,  but  delayed  eruption, 
for  the  young  man  was  speaking  again. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  criticise  your 
penmanship,  Mrs.  Ferguson.  I  just 
wondered  who  taught  you,"  he  said. 

"De  Lawd  teach'  me — dat's  who 
show'  me.  Don'  He  say  in  de  Book, 
'Write  on  de  table  of  yo'  hearts'? 
[150] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Don'  He  know  'nuff  to  carry  out  He's 
own  comman'men's,  wifout  no  white 
man  stickin'  in?  Yas,  suh!  I  jes'  say, 
'Heah,  Lawd,  how  you  make  dat  li'l 
quirly-me-quig  ? '  an'  He  suah  show 
ole  Aunt  June  good,  too — good,  too! 
Jerry,  am'  I  talkin'  true  ?  " 

Jerry  was  there.  So  was  Brother 
Marcus.  Indeed,  it  seemed  for  a  time 
that  there  were  several  of  the  latter. 
The  whirling  office  chair  fairly  stood 
on  its  hind  feet  to  support  him  as  he 
swung  his  cane  and  called  out : 

'  Dat  '11  do,  young  man !  Don'  you- 
all  sass  Mis'  Ferguson.  Now  you  an- 
swer me!  You  tell  me!  What  is  de 
beginnin'  ob  wisdom?  Quick,  now! 
Don'  be  waitin'  'roun' !  What  yo'  col- 
lege book  say,  whar  you  pursuin'  a 
cou'se  ?  Lan'  know,  be  'long  time  'fore 
[151] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

you  kotch  up  wid  it.  What  you  say? 
What  is  de  beginnin'  ob  wisdom  ?  " 

"Well,  Brother  Marcus,  I  never  had 
just  that  question  interrogated  to  me 
previously  —  not  in  just  that  form  — 
but  I  should  say,  without  a  chance  to 
look  it  up  in  the  lib'ary,  that  it  was 
physics,  or  perhaps  psychology." 

The  Brother  fortified  his  position. 
"Suah,  'tain'  no  doctah  stuff;  but 
whuffo'you  saydat  las' — psyc'ol'gy?" 

"Well,  Brother  Marcus,  it  is  like 
this.  We  study  the  mind  and  reason- 
ing, both  inductive  and  conductive,  and 
going  on  like  that  —  maybe  that  is 
what  you  want  as  the  real  beginning  of 
wisdom." 

The  preacher  rose  to  his  crippled 
feet,  and  the  office  chair  wabbled  back 
to  position. 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"  Suah  sign  you  ain'  got  no  wisdom, 
young  man,  ef  dat  's  what  all  dat  mess 
is.  Let  Bruddah  Marcus  tells  you, 
boy:  ' De  feah  ob  de  Lawd' — dat's 
de  beginnin'  ob  wisdom!  Dat's  what 
de  ole  slabes  hab,  an'  dat's  what  you 
ain'  nowise  gittin',  wid  all  dis  long- 
wu'd  book-1'arnin'  you  cain't  un'er- 
stan'.  Dat  what  Mis'  Ferguson  mean 
when  she  say  de  Lawd  teach'  'er  — 
an'  He  teach'  'er  mo'  dan  de  copy-book 
writin',  'cause  w'en  she  fearin'  Him 
she  trus'  Him,  an'  He  do  holp  her, 
suah.  De  feah  ob  de  Lawd  in  yo' 
heart,  my  boy,  is  what  you-all  needin' 
-  den  you  '11  not  git  upstickin',  an'  dis 
han'-made  book  1'arnin'  won'  makin' 
no  gibberin'  monkey  out  ob  you  newes' 
niggers." 

"But,  Brother  Marcus,"  —  the  rest 
[i53] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

had  pushed  back,  giving  the  disputants 
the  ring.  Ralph  sidled  over  towards 
the  exit,  and  beckoned  the  girls  after 
him,  as  the  younger  voice  went  on, — 
"that  is  the  old  religion.  The  new 
religion  says  that  God  is  love.  We 
don't  fear  Him  any  more." 

The  revolving  chair  kicked  up  its 
hind  feet  again,  as  the  preacher  slipped 
dangerously  near  its  edge  and  raised 
the  cane. 

"What  soht  ob  God  you  got  a-holt 
ob,  young  man?  Seem  lak  if  you  don' 
feah  Him,  you  tryin'  to  make  a  God 
outen  yo'se'f —  jes'  er-showin'  fo'th 
dat  you-all  wan'  to  build  yo'se'f  up. 
No,  sah!  Dis  heah  feah  am  God-giv- 
en-inity  —  hit  pertected  yo'  fo- fathers 
from  wil'  beastes  an'  sarpints  an'  de 
whoppenj-pos'.  Don'  cas'  out  what 
[i54] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

de  Lawd  put  in  you  fo'  good,  jes' 
'cause  you  is  Graduated  from  school. 
Keep  all  de  good  things  de  Lawd  give 
you,  an'  keep  all  de  good  things  white 
folks  give  you.  Dat's  de  cullud  man's 
job  nowerdays.  Den  de  Kingdom 
come!  But  dese  young  niggers  what 
don'  feah  de  Lawd,  dey  mos'  gin- 
nahly" — Brother  Marcus  ducked  his 
head  and  chuckled — "dey  mos'  gin- 
nahly  don'  feah  nuffin'  else  —  an'  some 
ob  'em's  in  de  lock-up!" 

Mrs.  Morgan  paused,  her  lips  half- 
way around  a  sandwich.  "Brother 
Marcus,  you-all  talk  lak  God 's  a  reg'- 
lah  pat-er-ol  —  jes'  chasin'  folks  'roun' 
to  ketch  'em.  Dat's  lak  my  mother, 
over  dar,"  pointing  to  old  Aunt  Rosan. 
"  I  'm  tellin  her  dat  's  Ole  Fogyism" 

"You-all  don'  un'erstan'  us  ole 
[i55] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

slabes,  in  dis  day  an'  time,  Mis'  Mor- 
gan. In  slabe  days,  we  hab  nuffin'  f o' 
certain  suah  but  ouah  hearts  an'  ouah 
grabes,  an'  de  good  Lawd  an'  His 
Bible  Scripture.  But  all  de  res'  —  ouah 
han's,  ouah  feet,  an'  ouah  haids,  an' 
ouah  wives,  an'  ouah  chillun  —  dey  all 
ole  massa's.  Ef  ouah  lips  movin',  de 
oberseeah  say,  '  What  dat  you  sayin'  ? ' 
So  we  1'arn  to  talk  ter  God  straight 
from  ouah  hearts,  an'  He  answer  back, 
so 's  nobody  else  kin  heah.  Ef  you-all 
talk  straight  ter  God  wid  yo'  hearts, 
in  dis  day  an'  time,  you  be  heap 
bettah  off.  Den  you  know  what  Ole 
Fogyism  mean." 

"  Come,  Rastus ;  it 's  recess  —  le's  go 
out  an'  play."    This  was  crazy  Clem- 
entina,  whose  skipping   step,   as   she 
crossed  over  and  took  Rastus'  hand, 
[156] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

illy  suited  her  weight ;  but  her  husband 
seemed  not  to  notice  it,  and  persuaded 
her  gently  back  to  her  corner  and  her 
copy-books. 

At  this,  Mrs.  Morgan  began  to  cry 
copiously  into  her  two  aprons ;  into  the 
gingham  one  freely  and  fully,  with  her 
good  right  eye;  into  her  clean  white 
apron  less  prodigally  with  her  bruised 
and  battered  left  one. 

"  Wush  I  was  crazy,  too.  Mebbe  my 
ole  man  would  n'  blacken  my  eye  dis 
mawnin'  an'  say  he  boun'  git  divo'ce 
papah  from  me." 

Rastus  swelled  until  his  remaining 
shirt  sleeve  was  endangered. 

"Mis'  Morgan,  when  I  married 

Clementina,   everybody   sayin',    'Ras, 

you   suah   out-married   yo'se'f/     An' 

I  'm  not  f orgittin'  it.    She 's  not  to  «say 

[157] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

crazy,  nohow — she  jes'  see  an'  hear 
double,  sometimes  mo'  dan  I  do,  mebbe. 
Now,  I  seed  lots  smart  folks  like  dat. 
'Cause  we  ain'  nebbah  had  no  chillun, 
an'  she  jes'  foller  me  'roun'  all  time." 

"My  gal,  Mis'  Morgan,  hain'  no 
chillun,  needah."  'Twas  the  mother, 
Aunt  Rosan,  who  spoke.  "  Dat  is,  none 
to  do  no  good.  Only  got  two,  an'  she 
has  to  live  in  de  basin  of  de  big  Stonah 
house.  Undah  groun'  all  right  f  o'  daid 
folks,  but  livin'  folks  ought  stay  'bove 
groun'.  Now  Mr.  Morgan  say  he 
gwine  to  git  divo'ce." 

"I  say,  let  'im  git  a  divo'ce,"  tear- 
fully went  on  Mrs.  Morgan.  "Dat 
white  lawyah  man  promise',  soon  as 
my  ole  man  brung  'im  one  mo'  dollah, 
dat  divo'ce  be  ready  waitin',  an'  I  'spect 
Morgan  beat  me  till  I  give  up  my  scrub 
[158] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

money.  I  say,  let  'im  has  divo'ce,  ef  — 
I  has  my  chillun."  Both  aprons  were 
brought  into  use  again  for  the  weeping- 
eyes. 

The  old  chair  gave  a  sudden  twirl, 
and  Brother  Marcus  faced  the  group. 
"Look  a-heah  now,  Sis'  Morgan! 
'Man  p'ints,  but  God  dis'p'ints,'  an' 
you  foolin'  niggers  am'  gwine  git  no 
divo'ce !  Dat  's  bad  'nuff  f o'  white  folks, 
an'  rich  white  folks  at  dat,  but  dey  no 
good  fo'  po'  folks — leas'wise,  po'  cul- 
lud  folks.  God  done  j'ineyou-all.  What 
kin'  ob  God  you  got  a-holt  ob,  dat  you 
gwine  rip  His  wuck  open  lak  dat? 
Dat's  ag'in  Bible  Scriptah  —  Ole  an' 
New  Test'ment.  I  readin'  it.  Moses 
suffah'd  ter  write  divo'ce,  an*  Chris' 
say,  'Fo'  de  hardness  ob  yo'  hearts, 
Moses  gib  it.'  Is  white  lawyah  man 
[i59] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

done  suffah  any  ter  write  'em?  No,  I 
tell  you  —  jes'  only  Satan  an5  dis  law- 
yah  gittin'  mos'  ob  dese  heah  divo'ces. 

"My  ole  Massa  say  to  me,  when  I 
say  mought  I  git  married :  *  Marcus/ 
he  say,  'has  you-all  got  'ligi'n?'  I 
say,  '  Yes,  Massa/  '  Has  dat  gal  got 
'ligi'n?'  'Yes,  Massa/  Den  he  say, 
'  Go  'head  an'  try  it,  but  none  my  folks 
gwine  git  married  'out  dey  git  'ligi'n, 
an'  'ligi'n  got  to  come  fust.'  Mis'  Mor- 
gan, you  tell  yo'  ole  man  what  I  say, 
an'  I  wan'  to  see  bofe  ob  you  at  de 
mou'nahs'  bench,  huntin'  mo'  'ligi'n. 
Den  dat  white  lawyah  man  mebbe 
wait  f  o'  he  othah  dollah.  Lawyah  man 
p'ints,  but  God  dis'p'ints.  Don'  tole  me 
'bout  no  divo'ce !  No,  sah ! " 

"  Yes,  let  the  white  people  get  all  the 
divorces.  If  they  thought  they  were 
[160] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

any  good,  they  would  n't  let  the  darkies 
have  'em,  anyhow.  Hog  'em  all  them- 
selves." Mr.  Solomon  said  this,  with  a 
look  that  was  not  good  to  see. 

Only  Unk's  watchful  eye  saw  Aunt 
June's  hand  go  out.  She  made  a  futile 
effort  to  raise  her  head,  but  sank  back. 
But  her  voice  was  clearly  under  con- 
trol: 

"Whaffor'  you  'bukin'  my  white 
folks,  wif  all  dese  fine  helpers  heah  all 
day  'ten'in'  me,  an'  feedin'  you-all?  I 
gits  'long  wif  de  white  folks.  I  don' 
'buke  back  when  dey  'buke  ole  June.  I 
say  to  myse'f,  "Spects  I  needs  it, 
Lawd,  an'  dat's  you  a-talkin'.' 

"  Ef  He  could  talk  in  a  bu'nin'  bush, 
He  mought  leas'wise  speak  sometime 
f  ru  white  man's  mouf .  An'  I  don'  look 

[161] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

blacker  dan  a  kittle  all  de  day,  when  I 
workin'  for  'em,  needah." 

"Of  course,  breaking  your  back- 
working  for  them." 

" Am'  broke  my  back  yit,  an'  I 
works  fifty  yeah.  Don'  nevah  break 
my  back  no  soonah  dan  you  Kansas 
niggers  does  wearin'  high  heels  under 
yo'  flat  feet,  an'  tight  clo's  on,  an' 
bendin'  over  yo'  books  in  de  dusty 
school,  an  runnin'  'roun'  nights." 

"To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Ferguson;  but 
these  are  newer  times  now.  We  are 
better  educated  now  and  must  keep 
progressing." 

"Yes,  praise  de  Lawd!  —  praise  de 
white  man,  too!  But  dat  don'  need 
make  you  sassy  an'  wicked  in  yo' 
hearts." 

Quickly  the  young  man  crossed  to 
[162] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

the  bedside  and  took  the  old  woman's 
hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  said  that,  Auntie. 
I  do  not  really  believe  it,  when  I  think 
about  it." 

Aunt  June's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
Brother  Marcus  found  his  kerchief. 
"Live  up  to  yo'  God-givin-inities, 
boy.  Dis  schoolin'  won'  harm  you  den, 
nohow.  I  'm  not  quah'lin'  'bout  dat." 

Aunt  June's  anger  was  appeased. 
She  turned  to  her  oldest  friend,  Liza 
Logan. 

"Huccom  you-all  so  still  over  dar 
in  de  corner,  Sis'  Logan?  Has  you 
had  some  coffee  ?  How 's  you  makin' 
out  sence  yo'  ole  man 's  daid  ?  " 

"Po'ly,  Sis'  Ferguson,  po'ly.  Ef 
he  done  live',  ole  Liza  not  b'en  'bliged 
to  do  no  warshin'  in  'er  ole  days.  But 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

I  ain'  gwine  git  no  divo'ce,  nohow.  I 
f ollowin'  dat  ole  man  all  my  life-time ; 
followin'  'im  'roun'  dem  ole  bi-yoes, 
feeshin',  w'en  ole  Massa  libin'  yit;  fol- 
lowin' 'im  w'en  he  pack  up  de  skillet 
an'  say  he  gwine  to  Kansas ;  followin' 
'im  on  de  big  boat  an'  walkin'  de  res' 
ob  de  way;  followin'  'im  w'en  he  git 
de  heart-honger  an'  say  he  gwine  back 
to  de  ole  place;  den,  w'en  he  needin' 
mo'  money  an'  say  he  comin'  back  to 
Kansas  —  I  followin'  same 's  evah,  an' 
he  done  forgit  de  skillet,  'cause  he 
startin'  so  quick."  Sis'  Logan's  voice 
was  near  the  breaking  point,  but  she 
went  bravely  on :  "  An'  now  he 's  gone 
to  Hebben,  an'  I  don'  wan'  no  divo'ce 
— 'cause  I  gwine  follow  dat  same  ole 
man  clean  on — 'twell  I  kotch  up  wif 
'im  in  de  Hebbenly  Lan' — no  divo'ce 
[164] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

fo'  ole  Liza —  same  ole  man  fo'  me  in 
de  Hebbenly  Lan'," —  with  a  crooning 
softness, — "in  de  Heb-ben-lee  Lan'." 

"Allus  thought  I'd  lak  to  go  to 
Hebben  —  fo'  a  li'l  while  —  jes'  fo'  a 
—  li'l  —  while."  Rastus  spoke  in  a  low 
tone,  as  if  he,  too,  was  touched  by  a 
tender  memory.  "  'Cou'se,  if  Clemma's 
min'  gits  right,  we  mought  stay  con- 
tinuous, but  she  mighty  sot  on  movin' 
'roun'  on  dis  here  earf." 

"Don'  you-all  feah  none,  Bruddah. 
Jes'  don'  you  feah.  De  Lawd  hain' 
gwine  hab  no  movin'  in  an'  out  in  Heb- 
ben. Praise  de  Lawd ! "  And  the  cane 
went  up.  Brother  Marcus  was  happy, 
and  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the 
fact. 

"  Black  man  ain'  gwine  be  no  rentah 
up  dah.  Nobody  gwine  say, '  Dat  's  nig- 
[165] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

ger's  house  —  kin  tell  by  de  looks  — 
jes'  han'-made  lak.'  Glory!  Dah '11  be 
mansions  dah  not  made  wid  han's!  I 
knows !  Yes,  sah  —  I  knows ! "  More 
swinging  of  the  cane.  "  I 's  got  a  man- 
sion 'waitin' —  no  white  man  moh'gage 
on  it,  needah,  an'  nobody  gwine  say, 
fu'st  ob  every  month,  'You  pays  yo' 
rent  or  you  movin'  out/  An'  dah's 
whar  —  I  'm  boun'  —  to — go ! " 

Aunt  Rosan's  turbaned  head  began 
to  sway  and  her  cracked  voice  led  out 
in  a  faltering  refrain.  Brother  Mar- 
cus joined  when  the  second  line  was 
reached,  and  the  rest  came  in  later : 

Not   eveybody   'st   talkin'   'bout   Hebben, 

gwine  —  ah  go  dah  — 
Oh,  Hebben!  sweet  Hebben! 
Not   eveybody   'st   talkin'   'bout   Hebben, 

gwine  —  ah  go  dah  — 
Oh,  Hebben,  an'  de  Lawd  take  me! 
[166] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 


J 


Not      evybody  'st  talkin'  'bout  Hebben  gwine—  ah 


j=j=±^=a 


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Heb-ben!.  .  .    Oh,  Hebben,  an"  de  Lawd  take  me! 


9-9-fz. 9— KSm-jStr 


[167] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Feet  were  tapping,  bodies  swaying, 
eyes  were  full  and  running  over.  Aunt 
June  said,  feebly,  "  Sing  some  mo'." 

Young  Mr.  Solomon  spoke  up  quick- 
ly: " Sing  ( The  Rosary'  or  ' Whiter 
Than  Snow/.  Those  are  good  songs." 

Aunt  Rosan  lifted  her  tear-wet  face 
and  broken  voice  in  protest:  "Don' 
sing  none  ob  dem  white  folks'  songs 
heah.  I  ain'  honin'  to  be  '  whitah  dan 
snow/ — wan'  be  jes'  lak  de  bressed 
Mastah  made  me.  Sing  sompin'  dat 
de  Lawd  teach'  us  in  de  ole  time.  Dem 
heart  songs  good  for  de  ole  slabes  an' 
soun'  bes'  now  to  ole  Rosan.  God 
moughty  nigh  to  de  ole  slabe's  heart  — 
usen  to  whisp'rin'  to  'em  in  de  cotton 
fiel' — an'  doin'  it  yit!  New  niggers 
bettah  declinin'  dey  ears  an'  ah-lis'en, 
too  —  an'  den  sing  dem  kine  ob  songs 
[168] 


Feet   tapping,   bodies   swaying,   their   eyes 
running  over 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

dat  de  Lawd  say — 'stead  dese  heah  po' 
white  stuff." 

"Bressed  be  de  Lawd!  Sistah 
Rosan,  you  'membah  yo'  God-given-in- 
i-ties  —  let  de  heart  song  go  on ! "  And 
the  preacher  led,  marking  time  with  his 
cane. 

The  verses  were  repeated  over  and 
over,  with  queer  little  quirks  on  the 
"  Oh ! "  and  running  monotones  on  the 
long  line.  Through  it  all  was  that 
indescribable  charm  of  the  "heart 
music"  of  the  Southern  negro,  now 
regrettably  displaced  by  the  "white 
folks'"  songs. 

And  so  these  faith-filled  people 
sang !  They  were  on  their  feet  at  the 
end  of  the  first  line,  and  they  stood 
swaying  with  the  rhythm  and  with 
faces  lifted,  as  for  a  sight  of  the  prom- 
[169] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

ised  land.  Who  shall  say  it  came  not 
nigh  to  them  ? 

An  unfortunate  swing  of  the  preach- 
er's cane  brought  trouble.  It  caught 
Rastus'  sole  remaining  sleeve,  and  only 
a  quick  side  spring  of  the  wearer  saved 
it  from  total  detachment. 

"Nevah  you  min',  Bruddah  Mar- 
cus ! "  Rastus  cried.  "  Dat  's  only  some 
ob  my  man-sewin'  rippin'  out.  I  sewed 
dat  sleeve  in  by  myse'f,  an' J) 

Clementina  was  sitting  with  folded 
hands  beside  the  closed  copy-books,  as 
if  she  had  not  heard  the  singing.  But 
after  her  husband's  speech,  her  mind 
took  one  of  its  lightning-like  turns. 
She  crossed  swiftly  to  Rastus'  side  and, 
with  a  puzzled  look,  said :  "  How  I  'm 
gwine  be  lady,  an'  got  a  wuckin'  hus- 
ban'  ?  You  gottah  be  one  ob  dese  set- 
[170] 


The   Passin'-On    Party 

tin'  genTmen,  else  I  'm  not  gwine  play 
bein'  lady." 

"  Now,  now,  Tiny,"  leading  her  gen- 
tly back,  as  only  Rastus  knew  how  to 
do,  "  you-all  go  back  to  dat  corner  an' 
be  suah-'nuff  lady  —  jes'  fo'  parties  — 
an'  I  won'  be  no  wuckin'  husban' 
today.  I  suah  gwine  be  yo'  settin' 
gen'l'man  dis  day — jes'  fo'  parties,  ob 
cou'se  —  but  jes'  to  suit  you,  Tiny,  jes' 
lak  you  say.  Ain'  dat  all  right  now, 
Tiny?"  And  Tiny  subsided. 

For  the  first  time  during  the  trying 
day,  Nina  gave  way  to  an  impulse  to 
laugh,  and  turned  away.  By  this  she 
faced  Ralph,  and  he,  as  the  result  of 
good  luck  or  good  method,  was  con- 
veniently near.  Seeing  his  advantage, 
he  whispered:  "What  kin'  you-all 
gwine  be  needin',  Miss  Nina  —  de 
[171] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

wuckin'  er  de  settin'  kin'?  Made  up 
yo'  min'  yit?  Honestly  Nina,  won't 
you  try  me  again  —  I  believe  I've  got 
more  sense  these  days.  Ain'  dat  all 
right  now,  Ninyf  What  you  say?" 

With  a  quick  lift  of  her  laughter- 
filled  eyes :  "  I  say  that  about  the  time 
Rastus  Number  Two  went  to  a  party 
with  a  shirt  sleeve  torn  out  like  that, 
he,  instead  of  his  wife,  would  be  need-- 
ing some  of  the  —  the  heart  medicine 
you  bought  a  while  ago." 

Ralph  required  neither  chart  nor 
footnotes.  "  Say,  Nina,  get  that  bottle 
off  the  clock  shelf  and  come  outdoors  a 
minute.  I'm  needing  some  of  it  now 
—  right  now." 

"  Oh,  no — not  now !  That  will  keep. 
Here,  let's  listen.  They  are  getting 
ready  to  leave."  But  Ralph's  face  was 
[172] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

glowing  as  he  turned  with  her  to  face 
the  crowd. 

The  guests,  unconscious  of  the  by- 
play between  their  white  servitors,  were 
still  standing.  Their  quaint  groupings, 
swaying  forms,  and  devout,  heaven- 
raised  faces  made  a  fit  foreground  for 
the  grotesquely  papered  wall  and  dusk- 
shadowed  corners  —  a  picture  waiting 
for  a  modern  master  who  shall  paint 
the  like  of  it  some  day,  to  his  own 
laurel-crowning.  They  seemed  a  trans- 
fixed emotion  waiting  for  a  voice. 

It  came.  In  answer  to  Uncle  Jerry's 
mumbled  request,  the  preacher  raised 
his  hands  in  invocation.  At  the  famil- 
iar signal,  the  friends  dropped  to  their 
knees.  Then  the  great  voice  that  had 
found  its  timbre  in  a  heart-strong, 
heart-wrung  race,  and  its  resonance  in 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

the  camp-meeting  of  the  Southland, 
rang  through  the  little  place  in  won- 
derful, thrilling  imploration  to  its  God : 
"  Mos'  Hebbenly  Gawd,  de  Oberseer 
ob  de  earth  an'  de  sea,  an'  all  de 
beastes,  an'  de  man  critters!  You 
holdin'  de  lightnin'  in  yoj  lef '  han'  an' 
de  thundah  in  yo'  right  han'!  You 
holdin'  de  sun  from  fallin'  on  us  by 
day,  an'  de  moon  an'  de  stars  from 
fallin'  on  us  by  de  night!  An'  you 
holdin'  dem  li'l  sparrows  in  dey  nestes 
w'en  de  earth  turn  ovah.  Draw  nigh 
to  our  sinful,  dyin'  bodies,  prostrated 
bef o'  Dy  Throne !  Bress  dis  deah  sis- 
ter whose  hospital  we  am  injoyin'  on 
dis  'casion.  Ef  you  sees  fit,  tech  her 
wid  yo'  healin'  fingah  an'  make  her 
stan5  up  whole  an'  well.  But  ef  dat 
ain'  handy  fo'  you,  good  Lawd,  our 
[i74] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

Bruddah  Ferguson  am'  gwine  be 
'bukin'  an*  kicking  'cause  he  know  you 
mus'  be  needin'  her  wuss  dan  he  do, 
or  seem  lak  you  gwine  leave  her  be. 
["Amen!"]  Bress  dis  Sistah  Clemen- 
tina, wid  de  crooked  min'.  Wen  you 
callin'  her  up  yandah,  sen'  yo'  angel 
ban',  'cause  she  ain'  able  go  'roun' 
'lone.  Shine  down  on  dese  heah  white 
folks  dat  been  servin'  us  dis  day  an' 
hour!  Save  dese  young  cullud  people 
in  de  holler  ob  yo'  han'  an'  in  de  crook- 
in'  ob  yo'  arm.  Don'  make  'em  no 
scapin'-goats  fo'  de  white  man's  fool- 
ishment,  'twell  you  don'  knows  'em 
yo'se'f,  Lawd,  w'en  you  gits  yo'  han's 
on  'em.  W'en  de  good  Gawd  sayin', 
'Wan's  de  sheeps  to  be  settin'  on  my 
right  han'  an'  de  goats  on  my  lef 
han','  O  Lawd,  make  all  de  niggers 
[i75] 


The    Passin'- On   Party 

know  whah  to  set !  [A  voice :  "  Show 
me  whah!"]  An'  dese  ole  brudders 
an'  sisters,  good  Lawd,  whose  haids 
got  de  grabe  blossoms  on  —  praise  Dy 
Name,  dey  know  whah !  Don'  need  to 
send  no  Angel  notifyin'  invitashun. 
Dey  jes'  a-waitin'  for  de  sign  —  for  de 
Glory  sign  ["  Yes,  Lawd ! "]  an'  we  all 
passin'  in  fru  de  inswingin'  do'!  An 
den,  praise  de  Lawd,  passin'  out  no 
mo' — no  mo'!" 

The  voice  ceased.  The  great  arms 
fell.  For  a  moment  no  one  moved. 
Then,  from  the  white-counterpaned 
bed,  two  shrunken  black  hands  went 
slowly  up.  Again  they  rose  and  fell. 
And  those  who  waited  knew  that  the 
prayer  had  filled  to  overflowing  Aunt 
June's  loving  heart,  and  that  she  was 
trying  to  speak. 

[176] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

Uncle  Jerry  hurried  to  the  side  of 
the  bed ;  the  young  friends  joined  him 
quickly,  and  Brother  Marcus  hobbled 
nearer.  But  to  none  of  these  were  her 
first  words  given.  When  she  could  find 
her  voice,  'twas  to  the  little  group  of 
half -frightened  negro  guests,  huddled 
in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  to 
whom  she  spoke  at  last,  in  feeble,  fal- 
tering tones : 

"Ef  I  don'  see  you  no  mo' — don' 
you  bea-forgittin'what  Brothah  Mar- 
cus—  sayin' — he  heap  smartah  dan 
ole  June  —  an'  you  tell  de  res' — tell  de 
res'  'bout  dese  '  God-given-inities '  dat 
he  say — 'bout  dese  divo'ces  —  an'  dem 
heart-songs  an'  de  fear  of  de  Lawd  in 
yo'  hearts.  Ef  I  don'  see  you  no  mo' — 
tell  de  res' "  Her  voice  failed. 

It  was  a  benediction.  The  col- 
[177] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

ored  guests  in  their  incongruous  array 
began  slowly  to  leave  the  room.  The 
path  of  each  led  past  the  bed  for  a 
parting  and  "  passin'-on  "  hand-shake 
from  the  old  black  woman  there.  But, 
though  Sis'  Liza  Logan's  face  was  wet 
with  tears,  and  Aunt  Rosan's  turbaned 
head  drooped  low,  and  crazy  Clementina 
peered  curiously  as  Rastus  led  her 
past,  Aunt  June  seemed  not  to  heed. 

When  all  the  other  guests  were  gone 
save  Brother  Marcus,  who  still  stood 
at  Jerry's  side,  Nina  and  Ralph  moved 
back  again  close  to  the  bed,  and  waited 
there  in  silence  for  what  might  come. 

Presently  the  invalid  turned  to  the 
two  young  white  folks,  who  stood  so 
near  that  they  caught  her  lowest  tones : 

"Chillun!  Chillun!"  and  they  saw 
that  her  mind  wandered.  "Time  for 
[178] 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

you  to  staht  —  go  climb  in  yo'  li'l  bug- 
gies—  outen  dar  in  de  yard  —  an'  ole 
Aunt  June  push  you  home — 'cause 
it's  gittin'  dark — an'  I  promise'  bofe 
yo'  maws  —  dat  I  brung  you  safe  — 
home — early.  Now,  Miss  Nina, —  don' 
be  all  time  quarrelin'  an'  fightin' — wif 
dat  li'l  boy  —  dat  li'l  Ralphie  don'  mean 
no  harm.  Don'  you  know,  Satan  git 
li'l  gal  —  dat  fight  ?  Jes'  de  good  Lawd 
put  de  lovin'  in  bofe  yo'  hearts.  Dat 's 
you-all's  '  God-given-inities.' ' 

A  young  man's  strong  hand  went 
swiftly  out  and  clasped  one  that  came 
shyly  forth  to  meet  it.  With  bowed 
heads,  Ralph  and  Nina  stood  while  the 
words  went  on : 

"  Heah,  li'l  boy,  I  gwine  give  you  dis 
li'l  book  to  keep  —  ef  you  be  good." 

She  held  out  the  precious  book  that 


The   Passin'-On   Party 

contained  the  long  words.  Ralph  ac- 
cepted it  reverently,  and  then  led  Nina 
away  a  little  space.  They  turned  again 
toward  the  bed,  for  Uncle  Jerry's 
startled  cry  rang  out : 

"Juny!  Juny!  Don'  you  know  me, 
Juny?" 

No  answer  came.  The  old  woman's 
wandering  eyes  had  gone  wallward, 
where,  in  all  the  impossible  glory  of 
line  and  color,  were  pasted  the  disturb- 
ing fashion  plates.  He  tried  again : 

"  Juny !  What  you  wanting  Juny  ?  " 

In  response  came  a  look  of  beatifica- 
tion on  the  pillow- framed  old  face,  and 
the  slow  words : 

"  Jerry,  I  wish  you  taken  down  dem 
papah  ladies  from  offun  dat  wall.  I 
ainj  meanin'  no  harm  —  by  dis  passin'- 

on  party "  and  the  voice  trembled. 

[180] 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

"But  mebbe,  Jerry, —  you  bettah  git 
some  mo'  angel — pictures  an'  pas'e 
'em — up  dar.  Some  mo'  angel  pic- 
tures—  mebbe  dey  —  bes'  —  now,  for 
— yo'  Juny." 

The  old  voice  faltered  on,  until  it 
could  be  heard  no  more,  not  even  by 
those  who  bent  lowest  in  their  loving- 
task.  The  old  eyes  closed  softly,  even 
as  in  their  plantation  babyhood  they 
might  have  done.  A  gentle  sleep  came 
on  —  a  sleep  that,  though  they  who 
loved  her  waited  and  watched,  would 
never  break  again  into  an  earthly 
waking. 

Jerry  did  not  understand  at  first,  but 
said,  softly: 

"  Juny !  See  heah !  Dis  am  yo'  pass- 
in'-on  party,  dat  you  long  time  honin' 
fo'.  Bruddah  Marcus  heah  yit.  Cain't 
[181] 


The    Passin'-On   Party 

you-all  wake  up  an'  speak  him  good- 
bye?" 

Brother  Marcus  hobbled  over  to 
Jerry's  side  and  touched  his  arm : 

"Bruddah!  Don'  you  understand 
You  mus'n'  be  distuhbin'  her  now  to 
speak  no  mo'  good-bye,  'cause  she 
cain't  heah  you  w'en  de  Lawd  done 
call !  Yes,  my  bruddah,  de  good  Lawd 
done  beckon  yo'  Junie  to  come  up  yon- 
dah  in  de  sky  —  up  yondah  to  De 
Lawd's  Own  Passin'-on  Party,  whah 
she  fitten  ter  be." 

Uncle  Jerry's  head  bent  low  as  the 
healing  words  flowed  on :  "  But  —  He 
holdin'  open  dat  inswingin'  do'  jes'  li'l 
while  longer  fo'  you  —  an'  me  —  an' 
we  gwine  jine  her  dah,  on  a  soon-come 
day — on  a  soon-come  day ! " 

Brother  Marcus  knelt  beside  the 
[182] 


Unk  Jerry's  head  bent  low  as  the  healing 
words  flowed  on 


The    Passin'-On    Party 

mute  form  of  old  Uncle  Jerry  and  laid 
a  comforting  arm  across  his  shoulder. 

Ralph  and  Nina  turned  from  the  two 
bowed  heads,  the  flower-decked  bed, 
and  the  silent  figure  thereupon  —  the 
shadows  falling  softly  over  all.  Then, 
with  hands  still  clasped  as  when  joined 
by  the  gentle  words  of  their  dead 
friend,  they  passed  out  into  the  sum- 
mer twilight. 

THE  END 


183] 


f>*  ? 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 


N9   564755 


Graham,    S.E. 

The  npassin'-on" 
party. 


PS3513 

R1475 

P3 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


